


The Banshee in Question

by summerwick



Series: The Banshee in Question [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Stydia, scira - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-02-07 00:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 126,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1878129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerwick/pseuds/summerwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spiraling into depression after Allison's death, Lydia seeks solace in Stiles and Scott, but they're so involved with Malia and Kira that they don't see it. She not only struggles with her jealousy of Malia and Stiles, but this unbelievable loss taking its toll. When a new man moves into town and peaks Lydia's interest, she finds herself in a dangerous game and involved in a case of very real stalking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve had this idea for a while now and have finally decided to follow through on it. The reaction to my idea on tumblr was so sweet that I knew I had to get the prologue out quickly. I really hope you enjoy the beginning, but be prepared that the fic might move kind of slowly in regards to Stiles and Lydia’s relationship. Slow burn is the way to go. I apologize in advance for the Stalia and Lydia/OC, as it will exist and you're probably going to hate it.  
> If you have time to, please review and let me know what you think! Not only are reviews inspiring with getting chapters out faster, but they make me feel like I’m doing something right.

Prologue: Troubled Times

Lydia ran her fingertips along the edges of the cardboard box situated on her lap, smoothing back the flaps slowly. She wasn’t prepared for whatever was inside; that much she was sure of. She sucked her lips into her mouth anxiously, dilated eyes flickering over the label with a shudder of her heart. “For Lydia” was neatly written in Allison’s calligraphy. A fist seized her heart and tears rimmed her eyelashes with a sudden ferocity as she pondered the implications of what opening this box meant. Her eyes glazed as she thought of the exchange she and Chris Argent just had.

“She was putting together a box of memories of the two of you as a Christmas present,” Chris told her gruffly, scratching his chin as he studied the young girl’s quizzical expression.

“Why?” She drawled, carefully lifting her eyes to meet those of her dead friend’s father. They were severely lacking emotion, especially for someone whose daughter died six weeks ago. He was good at hiding that sort of thing, she could tell. All part of the hunting business; it must be.

“Because she loved you,” If Lydia was breathing before; she was choking on oxygen now. She swallowed a harsh intake of air along with the lump in her throat. This man, someone she hardly speaks to, should be the last person to see her get blubbery, especially when it was over his own daughter. Lydia scolded herself; whatever she may be feeling was nothing compared to his pain.

Noticing the inner turmoil mixed into her long period of silence, Chris placed the box gently on her dresser. He cleared his throat to clear the tension caused by her sudden wave of sadness before speaking, “I’ll just leave this here.”

Lydia nodded slowly, not trusting her voice. She kept her eyes trained toward the floor and her face turned partly away until the werewolf hunter finally made his exit, the wooden flooring creaking beneath his heavy boots.

Now she was sitting here, brave front all but vanished, far too anxious about opening a box than any one person should ever be. If she told herself it was going to be okay, maybe it would be. Maybe every other problem invading her noisy lifestyle would fade into nothingness if she just pretended they weren’t there. Suddenly hesitant, Lydia quickly moved the box from her lap onto the bed as if it had burned her. If she was going to ignore the rest of her problems, she should start with the box. Why bring back painful memories?

A fresh pain sliced her heart. There was nothing painful about the beautiful moments she shared with Allison. Every little moment she tried so hard not to take for granted, but somehow still felt she did.

This was too much pressure.

Lydia’s decision was made for her when her cellphone began buzzing with an oncoming call from Scott. It was so clearly a sign that she didn’t need to open the box, at least not right now.

After shoving the offending object under her bed, she answered with a mock-cheery voice laced with enthusiasm, “Hey!”

“Be ready in five minutes, I’m picking you up.”

This time, she didn’t have to fake her excitement. Spending time with Scott still managed to guarantee a good time – at least when it was just them. “Where are we going?” She spun to face her closet, already internally monologue about possible choices. It all depended on the destination.

Her face fell when she heard the uncontrollable feminine giggling in the background of Scott’s car. He wasn’t alone. “Scott?”

“What - ? Sorry, Kira’s trying to tickle me while I’m driving, like a MANIAC!” Lydia could picture him turning to Kira and jokingly directing his “anger” at her, a goofy grin on his face that should be there all the time. Kira was good for Scott, that much Lydia knew. She just wished she didn’t feel so… third wheely. “Oh and Stiles and Malia are here too!” fifth wheely…

“Hi!” “Hey hey!” Came Stiles and Malia’s shouts from what Lydia assumed to be the backseat. It was more than likely they were taking Scott’s new car, as it had quickly but surely become his true love.

“That’s nice,” Lydia muttered with a frown. “Where are we going?” She didn’t even want to bother anymore, but she’d already expressed an interest in going. Who knows; maybe she’ll even have a good time? If she was going to start pretending things didn’t bother her, she’d have to act like her post-Allison’s death anxiety didn’t exist anymore either. According to basic psychology, if you force yourself to smile, you can trick your brain into thinking you’re happy. Lydia forced her lips to lift upwards, but felt stupid, so she instead decided psychology was overrated.

“The movies! We could all use a night off.” Great, the perfect place to fifth wheel.

“Nothing scary,” Lydia asked rhetorically, all but telling him she wouldn’t stand for it. She had enough voices in her head as it was. They all suffered from nightmares, and if Scott was smart enough he’d say –

“No,” he told her firmly. “Comedy all the way.”

Lydia nodded, pressing her fingers to her plump scarlet lips. “Okay, I’ll be down in two minutes.”

“Don’t keep us waiting!” Scott told her as he hung-up, leaving Lydia to drown in her closet for another five minutes before she found a simple dress that would bring out her glowing skin and bright strawberry head of hair.

Lydia left her house with a bounce in her step, her hair swinging behind her with a matching peppy expression adorning her face. Judging by the oblivious looks on their faces, she was doing a good job of keeping up appearances. As per usual, she was keeping her emotions to herself, because it was easier for them all. Granted, Scott and Stiles weren’t anxious to share their innermost thoughts, but they at least acknowledged them. Lydia pushed her thoughts away as she pulled open the backdoor to Scott’s car.

“Pippi Longstocking!” Scott teased.

Lydia was about to insult him, but was caught off guard by the proximity of Stiles and Malia.

Malia’s hands were splayed on the seat beside her, completely still as Stiles’ hand covered hers, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand and swirling it over a small beauty mark near her thumb.

This was a new development; an entirely completely 100% new development. Since when were they a thing? Lydia shook her head at them, pausing in the open door of the car. As always, no one noticed that she hadn’t even gotten in yet. Kira and Scott were rock-paper-scissoring (there has to be a shorter name for that) over which movie they would see.

Finally noticing the other girls hesitation, Malia and Stiles turned their heads to look toward Lydia and followed her shocked line of sight. They immediately jumped apart, pulling their hands away like a child caught with its hand in the cookie jar. Stiles’ face was beat red; he sank into his seat sheepishly, the polyester material squeaking.

Scott glanced back toward his friends. “What are you waiting for, Lyds? Get in.” He took in her flushed appearance. “Are you alright?” He frowned.

"Of course!” She chirped, climbing into the car beside Malia as if nothing had happened. She reached for her buckle, only sparing a look at Malia when locking it into its rightful position.

Scott looked to Kira for her input, wondering if he was the only one detecting a strangeness about Lydia today. She simply shrugged at him, offering a reassuring half-smile.

Malia exposed her teeth to Lydia, in a surprisingly friendly way, somehow having the social skill to pretend she hadn’t done anything hand-holding like with Stiles in a similar fashion as Lydia was. “Your dress is cute.”

Lydia was taken off guard by the werecoyote’s compliment, as she’d never given her one before. In fact, she’d shown little to no interest in even getting to know her as a person. She didn’t even seem to enjoy her presence.

“Thank you…”

“It would look so much better on me,” Malia didn’t even realize her words were insulting, moving her fingers to touch the hem of Lydia’s dress without permission, testing the material. “This is cotton right? I never had cotton when I was a coyote. Now I love cotton! Stiles bought me a cotton pillow,” Malia turned her head to Stiles happily, baring her teeth in a wide, almost innocent smile.

“How nice of him,” Lydia managed out, her eyes burning a hole into the side of Stiles’ skull. He stayed facing Scott’s seat, squirming under her gaze.

The ride got progressively easier as time passed, and before long they were finding their seats in theater 12. Kira was holding the jumbo popcorn to be passed among the four of them (though it was mainly hers), already shoveling buttery pieces into her mouth.

Lydia realized she drew the short straw when she got the aisle seat, right beside Stiles. If she had to deal with his hand holding problem during the entire movie, she was going to have to take more than a couple of bathroom breaks.

She didn’t care that she was staring at him, or that if someone chose to look at her at that moment she’d look like a complete stalker. It wasn’t like anyone really noticed her anymore either. Malia and Kira were shiny new pack members and the boys seemed to really like them.

Lydia’s face twisted in revulsion as she watched him suck down his extra-large soda, greedily gulping the liquid through its too-large straw. He popped off its covering and sipped down the last few drops, shuffling a few large pieces of ice around in his mouth. When Lydia started wondering how cold his tongue was right now, she knew she had to get her mind off it,

“You drank that whole thing already?”

Lydia gaped at him. “The previews started two minutes ago.”

Stiles slowly turned his head to make eye contact with her, moving so cautiously she wondered if he thought she was going to bite it off. Maybe he was still on edge from the car ride and his not-so sneaky relations with Malia. Lydia almost shook her head at herself; “relations” was not a good word to use. Her eyebrows knitted together as she considered the prospect. Were they having relations? Had they kissed? Her heart started beating more wildly as her thoughts got away from her. If they were cozy enough to just be holding hands then they must be at that point in whatever it is that they are. That point where you’re comfortable…

“A man gets dehydrated after a long day’s work.” Lydia wanted to comment on the fact that he’d been hanging out with Scott all day, she wanted to brag about how she just so happened to know that soda would only further dehydrate someone who clearly needs water. Instead, his honey eyes were making her feel self-conscious. Why were they doing that?

Stiles’ eyes furrowed in concern, lowering his chin at her, “Lydia are you okay?”

“What?” She blinked several times, trying to collect herself while she still had the chance to recover from this loss.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just a little dehydrated myself. I should’ve gotten water.”

“Hm,” he shook his cup of ice, hearing it rattle against the plastic. “I appear to be out of soda, so it looks like I need to take a trip back to the snack stand.” He displayed his palm to her as if he were offering to eloquently take her hand. “Care to accompany me?”

Lydia tried to fight the urge to smile but it was unstoppable, as well as the pink hue of a blush ripening her cheeks. “What about –,” she glanced toward Malia but didn’t finish her question. She wasn’t supposed to know about that. His smile began to disappear. “Okay, sure.” It was back, and so was hers.

“We’ll be right back,” Stiles told their three friends, shaking his drink at them as he had with Lydia, “refills.”

Scott was annoyed, “Well hurry up, the movie starts in a few minutes!"

Stiles followed behind Lydia as she briskly exited theater 12, heading back down the hall they came through.

“Mind slowing down a tad there, Lyds?” He raised his brows at her as he finally caught up, now walking beside her.

“Sorry, every time I wear heels I strut.”

“You only wear heels,” Stiles told her pointedly. “Which I think is dumb by the way.”

They moved to stand behind a pair of men on line, Lydia’s eyes narrowing at his accusingly.

“Why is my expensive and excellent taste dumb to you? Do you know how badly I’ve damaged my feet to wear these things?”

“Easy there tiger,” Stiles put his hands up defensively before continuing, “I just mean, why do you need to always wear heels? You can’t just be comfortable in a pair of flats or sneakers or some other girly shoe that feels nice for your toes?”

Lydia smirked at his way of speaking before answering honestly, “Looking and feeling beautiful is… important to me.”

“Now I know for a fact that you’re not as smart as you think you are,” Stiles told her with certainty, rocking on his feet as he waited for the cashier to finish with the family of three. He wasn’t even facing her, as he already knew exactly what her face looked like right now.

“How do you figure?” She genuinely wanted to know what kind of jab he was going to make next. She’d probably be able to counter with something even slyer.

“Because…makeup? Shoes, dresses, skirts? Perfectly curled hair and perfume and long painted nails? It’s material stuff,” he dares look her in the eyes, seeing she’s clearly still confused. “You take that all away and what’s left?”

“I am,” she whispered, mostly to herself, beginning to understand, though not in a way he particularly meant for her to.

Stiles heard anyway, his cheeks slowly dimpling as he gradually exposed his bright teeth in a broad smile. “And you’re beautiful.”

Her eyes lingered on his back as he finally took point at the front of the line, telling the man at the concession stand his and Lydia’s orders. She heard him mutter a thanks, digging into his pockets for spare scraps of paper.

“Oh, I left my money in my purse,” Lydia confessed, patting her pockets gently. She didn’t want him to think she was ripping him off.

He offered her a strange look, like she was giving him useless information. “It’s okay, I’m paying.”

“I’ll pay you back when we get back to the movie.”

“Don’t even worry about it.” He received his change, shoving the quarters and dollar bills into a jumbled mess back in his pocket.

Lydia silently drank her water as they made their way back to their seats.

“Hey,” Stiles whispered to Malia, seeing as the movie already started without him. The lights were dimmed now and Scott didn’t even notice his friend’s late arrival, too engrossed in the film and the way Kira’s giggle caused his heart to clench.

“Hi,” Malia murmured, her eyes flickering down to his lips when he swiped his tongue over them, moistening the surface and leaving a glistening sparkle on his bottom lip. There was so much she wanted to do with him in that moment, but kissing him in front of their pack would leave little to be left a secret. Although there was a very big chance Lydia had some idea about what was going on between the two of them, she didn’t know how far it went. She didn’t know that Malia took Stiles’ virginity and it connected them in some shape or form. They both wanted to explore what that meant, but during that “figuring it all out” beginning phase, it needed to just between them.

“What’s on your mind?” Uttered Stiles, admiring Malia’s thoughtful expression.

"You look good.”

First, he looked confused; then surprised. It ended with his face jumping in happiness. “You too.”

Barf. Lydia kept her chin in her right hand, elbow leaning against the armrest on the aisle’s side. It was the farthest she could get from Stiles and his annoying flirtation with Malia that she could plainly hear. They were completely nauseating and they didn’t even care.

Finding herself bored with the film, her eyes trailed away from the screen. Why did anyone like Adam Sandler, anyway? She didn’t think he was funny. Her eyes stopped on a young man when she saw that he was already looking at her. His dark gaze involuntarily caused a shiver to run up her spine, but not in a bad way. He was good looking, but not intimidatingly so, his eyes brightly colored but gaze piercing and almost mysterious. It was in that moment that Lydia decided she wanted to know his name.

The corner of one side of his lips jumped upwards, a makeshift smirk being sent her way. Lydia didn’t even bother to self-consciously scope the area and make sure that look on his face really was for her, because she just knew it was. The stranger moved his hand to run it over his bushy black hair, thickened and swept over. Then he offered a small wave.

Lydia inadvertently blushed, her eyelashes fluttering at him from across the aisle and a few rows back. She shook her hand at him responsively, discreetly holding it against her chest to prevent attracting the attention of her friends. She didn’t need them to end this moment quite yet, as it was actually starting to turn her on. She almost frowned at herself. What kind of girl finds a hook up at a movie theater? It was only going to make her appear desperate. She turned her head away from the attractive gentlemen to focus her eyes on the screen, though her head was elsewhere. She wasn’t going to give in just because he was cute, no way; besides, tonight was about friends, and if she ditched them that would be a questionable choice of action on her part. From the corner of her eye, she could see that he was still staring at her expectantly, waiting for her to meet his longing gaze.

"Want some?” Stiles’ voice shook her out of her haze. She blinked at him. “Want some popcorn?” He repeated, holding the jumbo bucket outwards to her.

“Uhuh,” she nodded at him, gracious for the distraction. Without acknowledging his shocked expression, she shoveled handfuls of the food into her mouth. Maybe that would turn away the stranger looking her way, maybe he’d just think she was some pig. She continued to force the popcorn into her mouth for another few moments.

“Lydia!” Kira’s voice scolded. The redheaded girl turned to her left to see Kira leaning forward in her seat to make contact with her, just a few seats away. “Don’t eat all of the popcorn,” she snapped.

Embarrassed, Lydia handed it back to Stiles, who automatically continued the passing of it until it got back to Kira. His eyes were questioning hers, but he said nothing. By the time Lydia looked back where the stranger was sitting, there was no one there. She frowned as she realized he’d left. That was weird.

Lowering further into her seat, Lydia made herself comfortable as she realized there would be no escape at this point. It was her, her marginally oblivious pack, and Adam Sandler. God help her.


	2. Break/Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your reviews! You’re all total sweeties and if I could give each of you a cookie I would, but you’ll have to settle for a new chapter instead.  
> Also, I just want to warn you guys, if you’re especially sensitive this fic may not be for you, as it’ll get pretty dark at some point and the material may get a bit heavy. It will probably stay within the T rating unless I’m otherwise convinced it needs to get darker.  
> If you’d like, follow me on tumblr and we can be buddies. Summerwick.tumblr  
> In case you were wondering, each chapter’s title derives from the title of the song that inspired its writing.

__

 

_Break/Hands_

Chapter 1

            If there was any particular feeling Lydia hated most, it was the feeling of being weak. To be afraid, to beg for mercy, to have others sympathize for her. It was strange, because these days, she couldn’t seem to get enough of that feeling. It made her loathe herself, and that felt necessary right now. The pain was the only thing that was real anymore, and Lydia knew she deserved it. She was guilty of so many things, unpunished for so many horrible things she’d done; like letting her best friend die. Knowing it was going to happen, trying to warn her friends but not obvious enough. If she’d just been a little clearer…

            “Lydia, are you even listening to me?” She’d almost entirely forgotten that Kira was in her room.

            Lydia shook herself out of her stupor. “What?”

            “I swear, your head is always up in the clouds.” Kira went back to playing with Lydia’s green nail polish, running the wet brush along her pinky finger. She didn’t even see the annoyed twist of Lydia’s lips.

            Her head was most certainly not in the clouds _always_ , in fact, it was actually a new thing. She didn’t expect Kira to realize that, as she hadn’t been around all that long. The only people that should be realizing something was off about her hadn’t an idea.

            Of course, Lydia didn’t bother saying as much. She genuinely liked Kira, but it wasn’t like with Allison. It would never be like with Allison.

            “Hey, what’s this?” Kira asked curiously. “For Lydia?”

            Lydia’s head shot up, but she already knew what she was going to see before it did.

            Kira shook the box, a heaviness cluttering around inside. “Is this a present from a guy?” Suddenly, Kira was entirely interested. “Who is he and can I open it!?” She rocked the bed excitedly, prepared to pull off the lid once Lydia gave her permission.

            “No!” Lydia sprung up from her spot on the floor, prying the box from Kira’s fingers and holding it to her chest protectively. They shared an intense gaze, Kira’s shocked and offended while Lydia’s was defensive and panicked.

            There was no time for Kira to ask what the hell that was about because Scott had walked through the door, breaking the stillness of the room and oblivious to the tension that it just held.

            “You ladies ready to go?” He was driving them to school today, but upon arriving at his friend’s, realized he desperately needed to empty his bladder. While the girls hung out in Lydia’s bedroom he took his sweet time in the bathroom, ultimately going to make them late for school.

            Kira cleared her throat, eyes shuddering away from Lydia’s, “Are we scooping up Malia?” She pulled at the threading of her long-sleeves, “She stole Donnie Russo’s sandwich on the bus last time… I don’t think she’s ready to handle that 10 minute ride on her own.”

            “Stiles will take her,” Scott relayed in the most obvious fashion he could seem to muster.

            Lydia hid her grumble of disappointment. If it was so evident to Scott that Stiles would be looking after Malia, maybe their secret “thing” wasn’t such a secret after all. Knowing their very close friendship, it made sense that Stiles would tell Scott about his _romantic_ feelings for the werecoyote. She’d never be connected with them the way they were with each other.

            Remaining silent as she followed them out to Scott’s car, her thoughts took her places far away from here and now. She’d always been someone with a lengthy train of thought, one that could wind and tangle into any complex jumble of word salad, but it didn’t used to take her such dreary places. Her head was in a much darker room now, small and cramped and dark, like running your hands alone the cement walls of a cellar trying to find a light switch. Something to turn on the lights, to spark something within her that captivated her interest in anything that she could cherish that would appreciate her in the same way. She just wanted to feel wanted again, to feel like she was actually grounded on this plane and not caught in the clock tower that was her brain.

 

            Lydia saw Stiles for the first time that day when she was fetching her science and history books from her locker. He was leaning his left side against the locker next to Malia’s, where the werecoyote was getting her own things. He had a sly smirk on his lips, trailing his knuckles up and down Malia’s left arm flirtatiously. She giggled lightly, glancing toward him appreciative of his ministrations.

            Feeling her eyes water, Lydia forced herself to look away. She felt completely ridiculous. This was _Stiles Stilinski_ and he was no Romeo. Then again, Romeo wasn’t a very good example. He was pretty much a wimp, undeserving of his name being used as a comparison to real men… Maybe Stiles _was_ Romeo.

            Her manicured nails paused on the metal edging of her locker’s door as she was consumed by her thoughts for the umpteenth time that morning. If she was like this already, she was surely going to be missing a few lessons today.

            Daring to take one more look at Stiles and Malia, her heart lurched in her chest and her breath caught in her throat when she saw they were both already staring at her, quietly whispering as if they were talking about her. Suddenly self-conscious, Lydia focused her eyes on the contents of her locker without really seeing what was there. She needed to regain control of the situation, as it had already been stolen away. Her face was burning in humiliation, why were they talking about her?

            She felt a rush of air, instinct telling her that someone was behind her. Lydia didn’t have to turn around to know it was the boy she was trying so hard to let go of. A sense of foreboding filled her gut, expecting him to accuse her of something or say something against her. She wasn’t sure why she thought he’d put her down, but the watchful glint in their eyes while he and Malia were whispering was far from reassuring. Lydia slowly turned to face him, forcing a half-assed smile.

            “Hey,” he greeted, loosely hanging onto two notebooks. “Have you seen Scott?”

            “Scott?” She choked, having anticipated this to go differently. How could he go from looking so intense to so nonchalant? He switched facades like no other.

            Stiles’ eyebrows lowered, befuddled by the disoriented girl. “Yeah… Scott.” He raises his right hand to hold flatly beside his head. “About ‘ye high, always has a kicked puppy dog look in his eyes.”

            “Oh,” she played along carefully. “That Scott,” Lydia tapped her chin, using it as a moment to calm her nerves and get her thoughts back on track. “He drove me to school this morning, but I haven’t seen him since.”

            “Probably in the broom closet with Kira,” Stiles’ lips upturned, boring his eyes into Lydia’s, perverse possibilities filling the area. He waited for her to understand what he meant.

            “You’re disgusting, Scott wouldn’t do that.”

            “ _Oh_ , he _would_ ,” Stiles told her firmly, confidence resonating from his entire being. “And he has.”

            “I do _not_ need to know this…” Lydia cupped her ears, deafening herself from Stiles’ graphic descriptions of the times their friend was previously in there. She knew he was talking about Allison, but was grateful that he didn’t use her name.

            “ _What the fuck did you say to me_!?” A masculine voice boomed from nearby, immediately drawing the attention of the entire hall.

            “Oh shit,” Stiles muttered as he watched the scene unfold. He could plainly see Beacon Hills jock Blake Locke shoving at an new entirely guy that he’d never seen before, which was strange considering the smallness of their high school. The only logical explanation was that he was new. It looked like he wasn’t making any friends either, as one of the biggest bullies in the school was already accusing him of offending his status as king of the high school hierarchy.

            Stiles felt bad for the other boy and even considered _possibly maybe_ stepping in, but was completely caught off guard with how well the new student was taking Blake’s aggressive behavior. He was just standing there, entirely bored, his hands in his pockets as he peered uninterested at the bulky muscled teen from under his eyelashes.

           

 

            Lydia was having her own crisis, a prickling running up and down her arms and legs as recognition hit her full force. It was the boy from the theater; he was here at Beacon Hills High. Was he new? Had she just never noticed him? None of that really mattered right now, because he was about to be an extremely flattened new student.

Blake shoved the other teen, trying to get him to hit first, “Come on fight me, punk! You’re not gonna disrespect me, _fight me!_ ” His short sleeves rode up his shoulders, arms flexing as his fists raveled in his victim’s shirt.

            “Don’t touch me,” the quieter crystal-eyed teen mumbled, only loud enough for Blake to hear. The rest of the hall watched curiously, cheering Blake on as the intensity of the situation arose. A few passer-by’s shook their heads in disapproval, heading for the nearest classroom to alert a teacher.

            “Are you a little pussy?” The bully whispered, his onion breath shadowing his victim’s face, though he did not react.

            “I said–,” in one quick flush of motion, the victim turned the situation on its head as he veered them both against the locker, slamming his aggressor’s face against the metal combination lock and allowing it to cut the bridge of his nose. He slammed his head one last time before allowing him to drop to the tile half-conscious, pressing his palm flat against his face. “ **Don’t TOUCH me**.” He spat at Blake’s still form as he rose, satisfaction eating him alive.

            “Mr. Easley!” A male teacher screeched, storming through the crowd of fleeting teens with his upper lip stiffened at the new student. His eyes widened as he saw Blake on the tile. “Dear god, someone get the nurse now!” He shouted, gaining the attention of another few teachers who immediately went for help. The teacher knelt beside Blake, trying to wake him.

 

            Within a few minutes the hall had mostly cleared, as most students were looking to avoid getting in trouble for cheering the grappling pair on. Stiles and Lydia trailed behind, as she managed to convince him that they should explain that the fight wasn’t his fault. He really was only defending himself.

Stiles had bought into it, but Lydia knew why she really wanted to stay behind. Sure, he _did_ need someone to defend his case, but mostly, she just wanted to look into his eyes again and see the desire that was there when she first saw him last night. If she could just recapture that moment, it would make her feel sexy again. And then she could let the stranger go and move on with her life. That’s _all_.

“Stilinski, should I be surprised that you’re in the middle of this?” A very annoyed assistant principal demanded, hands on her hips as she narrowed her eyes at the troublesome teen.

“What?” Stiles appeared offended. “I didn’t do anything!”

“As shocking as it may be, he’s telling the truth,” Lydia understood the woman’s assumption. “We just wanted to tell you that we saw what happened, and…” she pointed at the teen explaining the situation to police officer, “ **he** is not the responsible one here. Blake attacked him out of nowhere and he was protecting himself.”

The assistant principal stood straighter. “Would you be willing to tell that to the police?”

“Please do,” another voice chimed in.

Lydia bit her tongue hard enough to draw blood. It was _him_. His voice was sleek and smooth, an attracting sweetness in it that almost sounded trusting. She slapped herself mentally, realizing how trite her thoughts were becoming. She was most certainly not that kind of girl.

He approached the group of people in a friendly way, his right hand gripping the strap of his backpack sling. His jet-black hair was slick under the cheap fluorescents of the hallway, making it appear shiny and gelled. He wore a long-sleeve shirt, mostly grey except for the sleeves, the same shade as his hair. His jeans were baggy and dark, and if it weren’t for his lack of makeup or extreme hairstyle, he almost looked like what some might call a Goth.

He was most certainly not Lydia’s normal type of guy to go after, but she needed something new in her life. A fresh experience from someone who could be anyone, but nothing else mattered as long as he wanted her. She needed somewhere to just _be_ , she needed company that knew she was there. Lydia chewed on her lower lip as she once again realized the negative turn of her thoughts the moment it happened. Was this what it was like to hate yourself?

Lydia phased back into the conversation, hearing the tail end of whatever the assistant principal was telling the boy whose first name she still didn’t know, “…-and we’ll see where it goes from there, okay?”

“Completely, thanks Mrs. H.” He spoke to her as if he knew her on a personal level, an appreciative smile lifting his face.

“Thank me later when it really comes back to bite me.” She gestured to Lydia and Stiles with her index finger. “You better be thanking your lucky stars you made yourself some new friends here, or Blake’s parents would certainly press charges.” Leaving it at that, the assistant principal made her way back to the police, leading them to her private office. Other than the three teens, the hallway was now bare.

Stiles and Lydia exchanged glances before returning their hard stares to the newcomer.

“I’m Calvin.” He extended his hand to whoever would take it. Stiles took it first, offering a friendly shake.

“Stiles, where do you fair from?”

“West Virginia.”

“Ever seen the moth man?” Stiles joked.

“Once or twice,” Calvin spoke without any indication that he was kidding, his expression solid and still.

            Something about not what he said-but the way he said it made Stiles very uncomfortable. He shifted in his position before speaking simply, “Uh... Okay.”

            Calvin’s eyes switched to Lydia, and his eyes sparkled at her sharp intake of breath. “I don’t think you said your name.”

            “It’s Lydia.” At least she sounded calm.

            “The worshipper,” he interjected.

            Stiles and Lydia shared in their confusion, so Calvin expanded.

            “Lydia was a biblical figure; a saint.” Calvin’s eyes scoped Lydia’s form, studying her. “She opened her heart to her god and gave it to him. She worshipped everything that he was and followed through with his plans for her without question. She trusted in him more than herself, because she knew that he knew what was best for her.”

            It was quiet for a moment, and Stiles wondered if he was the only one who realized how fucking creepy this guy was. Either way, he didn’t want to stick around, “Uhh… Lydia, don’t we have to go to class?”

            “Yeah,” she agreed softly, her eyes not leaving Calvin’s. His did not leave hers either. Despite deciding to follow Stiles’ lead, she did not move a single step.

            “So let’s go,” Stiles asserted, touching her arm to insistently pull her away. He wanted to be anywhere but near the strange new student, as even his blinking was in some way intimidating.

            Finally relenting, Lydia tore her eyes away from Calvin’s and allowed Stiles to lead her back down the hall.

            Once he was sure they could no longer be heard, Stiles’ head whipped around to face her. “What the _hell_ was that about?”

            “What?” Lydia judgmentally quipped, rolling her eyes at him.

            “That guy was a creep show and you were eating it up.”

            “I think he’s sweet,” she told him with a shrug.

            “Sweet?” He forced her to stop walking, placing a hand on one of her shoulders. “Sweet? Lydia, _sweet_?”

            “Yes, Stiles,” she affirmed. “Nice. Friendly. Kind. _Sweet_.” Tossing her hair around to smack against his lips, she sauntered away from him with heavily clicking heels. He was not about to judge her for being attracted to Calvin when he was going to lower himself to Malia’s standards. There was no way in hell he got to be a hypocrite about this.

 

Kira loved kissing Scott. Not only was he so soft and warm, but so caring and loving while he did it. His hand would cup the back of her head; his finger would trail underneath her chin to pull her toward him, where he would then press her upper lip to the center of both of his to trap her there, tracing his tongue lightly along her lips. It drove her crazy when he did that.

“Wait.” Kira pulled back for a moment, opening her eyes to see Scott’s questioning hers in the dark. “Never mind,” She pulled back for more, her boyfriend’s eyes not drifting closed as they had every other time she stopped them abruptly.

            His kissing was so perfect, but right now she just couldn’t get into it. And he could tell.

            Scott tugged the string, lighting up the closet with a flickering bulb, “Okay, that’s the fourth time you’ve pulled away in as many minutes. Is something bothering you?” He cupped a hand on her elbow, her hands pressed against his collarbones.

            “ _No_ ,” she lied unconvincingly, her eyes circling the closet in avoidance, a tell-all when it came to Kira lies.

            “ _Ki-ra_ ,” he sang, telling her that he could see through her excuses.

            She dropped her hands pathetically. “Promise you won’t tell Lydia.”

            Scott’s neck jumped back in surprise. He thought the issue was Kira-Scott related, not a friend thing. She couldn’t kiss him because she was worried about Lydia? “Why? What’s going on?” Scott couldn’t promise that Lydia wouldn’t find out that Kira told him if the girl was in real trouble. He would have to do something about it.

            “This shouldn’t bother me… But it does.” she sighed, “and it’s probably nothing, but I can’t get it out of my head.”

            “Just tell me what happened,” Scott soothed. It was probably some girl-related spat that she was overthinking. He knew that Kira easily got her feelings hurt, as she was extremely sensitive. He was also aware that Lydia occasionally forgot to use tact when speaking and often offended people with her straightforwardness. It was possible that whatever was on Kira’s mind was very minor.

            “When you were in her bathroom for like ten years…” Scott blinked. “I found this shoebox of stuff under her bed. There was a little note on it that said ‘For Lydia’ and I asked her if a guy bought some stuff for her and if I could look at it, you know? I just wanted to see if he bought her any cool things, I really wasn’t trying to invade her privacy.” Kira frowned. “I just wanted to hear her talk about some awesome new guy in her life. She needs it.” Getting off-track, Kira quickly continued her story. “Anyways, she practically ripped the thing from my hands and shouted at me.”

            “She did?” When Kira nodded in confirmation, he pondered this. It was definitely an extreme reaction, but this _was_ Lydia they were talking about. “I mean…” Scott rubbed the back of his neck as he figured out a way to explain this and cheer her up at the same time. “Lydia’s a complicated person.” It came out easy and he was proud, but Kira’s pouty lower lip and concerned wrinkle in her forehead told him to continue. “She’s a bit wacky and kind of freaks out about stuff, but that’s just who she is. You really can’t take it personally.”

            “I don’t think it was a banshee thing, Scott.”

            “I don’t either! It’s really just her personality, I promise.” Scott’s voice lowered. “And she _has_ been through a lot lately with losing…” he stopped himself from saying her name. “It’s been rough.”

            “I know,” Kira whispered. “For all of you.”

            Scott’s head shot up. “It’s been hard for you and Malia too, Kira. Don’t forget about that, either.”

            “We weren’t close to Allison,” Kira answered with regret.

            “I didn’t mean with Allison. You’ve both had to adjust to being new to this school, you’ve had to deal with your powers and learning the truth about your mom and Malia’s literally been thrust into a world she barely understands.”

            Kira’s heart swelled with joy, because even through his own pain, he still recognized the fact that she had pain too. He was way too perfect.

            They were interrupted by the ringing of the bell.

            “I guess we should go now,” Scott droned in disappointment.

            “It’s okay.” Kira smiled back at him as she gripped the doorknob. “Same time tomorrow?”

            “And at lunch today, just because we didn’t get enough kissage this time.”

            “Okay,” Kira said with a laugh, waving at him as she made her way toward her next class.

            Stiles appeared beside Scott, judgment written across his face. “ _kissage_ , Scott? Really?” He bowed his head at him. “You’re really gonna stoop to that level?”

            Scott pushed aside his embarrassment, because Stiles just didn’t understand. His feelings for Kira ran deeper than shame. “Shut up.”

 

            Lydia didn’t anticipate Scott and Kira’s late arrival to the parking lot after school. He was supposed to drive her home, school had ended 20 minutes ago, and he was nowhere in sight. If they show up just for her to find out that Scott and Kira were fooling around under the bleachers somewhere, she was going to pop a gasket.

            The rain was beating down violently and Lydia was soaking wet. After sending Scott fifteen texts and calling him seven times, she couldn’t wait any longer, so she started walking. If he’d given her some kind of warning, she could have taken the bus or even asked Stiles for a lift; anything other than standing outside in the freezing rain in a small dress, jean jacket and a pair of very destroyed heels. It was minutes later that she was bare footed, and she had realized how cheap the material of her shoes really was.

            “ _I am gonna kill him_ ,” Lydia grumbled angrily to herself, tears running down her face as she soaked up the misery surrounding her in this moment. She hugged herself tightly, her feet getting more cut up by the minute. Of course she’d take the path with a rocky sidewalk.

            She ignored the jeep that pulled up beside her.

            “LYDIA!” Stiles shouted to be heard over the rain. She tossed a glare his way. “Get in!”

            “Go to hell!” She snapped. Lydia was not in the mood to deal with the likes of him, even if it meant spending the next fifteen minutes sopping and gloomy. She was determined not to give in.

            “What’s wrong?” Stiles inched his car forwards, driving along as she walked. He couldn’t tell that she was crying in the rain, her makeup smudged by a mixture of foul weather and her own sadness. “Why are you mad at me?” He yelled as the sky thundered.

            Lydia shook her head, “Scott forgot about me.”

            “And I’m here now, stupid!”

            The insult did not sit well with her, and she was even more resolute in staying away from him. Stiles and Scott were nothing but trouble for her emotions these days, and she was not going to rely on anyone but herself anymore.

            “ _Come on_ , Lyds, you don’t have any shoes on!” His voice grew impatient. “Please!”

            “Just go away Stiles!” Lydia stopped walking, turning toward the open window and approaching it to be heard clearly. Her cheeks puffed out in anger as she ranted, “I don’t want you to help me! You _suck_ at helping so stop trying! Leave me alone!”

            Stiles sat there for a long moment, staring forward to his windshield. His eyes flickered between there and his lap, his bottom lip extending in anger and a bit of sadness too. His jaw tightened as he made the tough decision, his eyes closing tightly for a brief second.

            “I’ll see you tomorrow Lydia,” he whispered hoarsely, spinning his wheel to the left and high-tailing it out of there.

            Somehow, Lydia managed to feel even worse. She was about to fall apart, but another voice disrupted her self-loathing.

            “You look lost.” Calvin approached her, a thick hoodie protecting his hair and body. “Cold, too. Here.” He pulled his hoodie upwards off of his body, revealing a small section of abs that Lydia would have been interested in seeing if she weren’t so upset.

            Lydia was surprised by his direct course of action, not even asking if she wanted to wear it before pulling it over her shirt like she were a child. She brushed off the strange vibe she got from the movement, grateful for the warmth it provided.

            “Thanks.”

            “Do you want me to drive you home?”

            Lydia swallowed hard at the repeated question, an unquestionably large lump caught in her throat and she couldn’t get rid of it. The tears were impossible to stop now as a sob broke free. “Yeah,” she weakly responded, her voice strangled. “I’d like that.”


	3. Digital Love

**_Digital Love_ **

Chapter Two

            It had been a couple of days since Calvin drove Lydia home in the rain, a couple of days since she gave him his number and they began texting back and forth. It was nothing serious, just small conversations when she was bored in class, or him sending her a text goodnight when it got late. His timing was perfect, as it always seemed be right as she was climbing into bed.

            After her “disagreement” with Stiles, he’d been avoiding her. They still sat at the same lunch table, still hung out in a group, but he went out of his way to prevent speaking to her. At first it wasn’t a big deal because it was exactly what she needed. He was proving to be nothing but a painful distraction and she’d been trying to get him to leave her alone for a while now. By Thursday it was worse, because she was still forced to watch him with Malia without actually getting any of her own moments with him. They were close to defining their relationship as being “official” and Lydia could tell. As the hours of the day wore on their discretion was minimal, and every small touch was public and unhidden.

            Scott and Kira were only slightly better, as the sight of them didn’t nauseate her. Granted, their involvement with each other made them blind to the rest of the world, but they were happy together and they weren’t unhealthy for each other. Lydia’s heart sunk. Malia wasn’t exactly unhealthy for Stiles either, but she could pretend to make herself feel a little bit better.

            Neither Scott nor Kira noticed the tension between either of their friends. It wasn’t even just that Scott was oblivious to, but Lydia’s anger at him. He still hadn’t realized that he’d completely forgotten about her on Monday and that she was forced to walk bare feet in the pouring rain. He must’ve just _assumed_ she’d have a ride.

            Now Lydia was carrying her lunch, brought from the deli of course, to their usual table. Scott, Kira and Stiles were already there, laughing about something. Kira sneakily stole a small carrot stick from her boyfriend, swabbing it in his ranch and popping it into her mouth. The strawberry haired teen didn’t bother to fight her smile at the Kitsune’s trickster abilities being used for something so innocent.

            Lydia placed her chef salad on the table across from Stiles, seeing as Scott and Kira were already seated across from each other. The sound gained his attention, his eyes flickering up to notice her presence before quickly returning back to his burger. He took a large bite to avoid being forced to speak to her.

            “Wow, do they sell that _here_?” Kira asked, pushing at the salad with one finger as if it were a foreign object.

            “As if I buy my lunches from here,” Lydia scoffed. “Pedro at the delicatessen makes my food every day, has since middle school. If you want, I can get you a discount,” she suggested with a lift of her shoulders.

            “Yeah! That would be awesome.” Kira’s face brightened, pleased to see Lydia doing slightly better today.

            Scott smiled at the two girls, flattening his hand against Kira’s upper back and rubbing soothingly. Her soft dark hair tickled the tips of his fingers, as if she too were caressing him. She and Lydia were getting along well, and he could see that he was right to assume their minor argument on Monday had been nothing. Part of him still wondered who gave Lydia the package, but he knew it was none of his business.

            “Where’s…” She was going to ask Stiles about his _special friend_ ’s lateness, which was unusual considering Malia’s fondness for human food, but then remembered that they were not on speaking terms. Her voice trailed off and she focused on her food instead, popping off the lid.

            “Malia?” Kira prompted. “She’s staying late from her last class, apparently Mr. Keaton has noticed her terrible math skills and made her sit with him to work on the formulas she struggles with most.”

            “Which is all of them,” Scott added. “So don’t expect to see her today.”

            Lydia nodded without speaking because she didn’t trust her voice. That would be a blessing.

The familiar buzzing of her phone vibrated from her purse, resonating through the thin plastic table so that all of her friends could feel it under their hands.

            It was from Calvin. ‘ _Look to your left’._

            And there he was, sitting alone at a big table with nothing but his hefty backpack in the middle. He was by himself and he looked miserable.

            Lydia wondered if it would be weird to invite him to the pack’s table, but if she did they probably wouldn’t appreciate it very much. It would be awkward, and it would mean that they couldn’t discuss any pack business or supernatural related issue. Then again, the weeks following Allison’s death had been quieter than usual, which she was thankful for. They all needed the break.

            Her phone buzzed with another text. _‘I’m lonely.’_ Lydia chomped down on her lower lip; she needed to make a decision. Should she invite him over? It wasn’t like she could abandon her friends for this boy, who was practically a stranger. Lydia admired her friends’ faces, but they were very much involved in other things without paying much notice to her vibrating phone.

            Stiles shoved a large piece of bread into his mouth, opening it wide to show the chewed wet pieces to his closest friend. When Scott looked away in disgust, he let out a howl of laughter in success.

            Lydia’s lip curled in revulsion. Her phone buzzed again. _‘Aren’t you going to sit with me???’_ Her heart picked up speed as she realized he was growing impatient with her. Now or never.

            Mind made up, her eyes lit up in determination. She was going to sit with him. As she rose to a standing position, her phone went off one last time. _‘Fine, I don’t need you bitch.’_ Her eyes clouded over as she read it, then looking up to where Calvin was sitting. There was regret evident in the way he squeezed his backpack’s strap tightly and his eyes shifted. He’d pressed send before she’d gotten up, his temper having risen past reason.

            “Yoo-hoo, Lydia?” Scott waved a hand in front of her face, breaking her out of her trance. She didn’t realize he was trying to get her attention for the last few seconds. “Why are you standing?” Even Stiles was staring at her, his jaw stopping mid-chew as confusion wrinkled his face.

            “I’m going to the bathroom,” Lydia declared, unable to stop the traces of anger and sadness from breaking into her voice. Without making eye contact with any of her friends, she loosely grabbed her things, uncaring if she left anything behind as she practically tore out of the cafeteria.

            Scott and Stiles exchanged bewildered grimaces, both equally concerned. Kira didn’t seem perturbed, shoving a spoon full of yogurt between her lips and savoring the taste with a slide of her tongue. Both boys were now expectantly watching Kira, waiting for her to explain what she clearly knew and they didn’t.

            “It’s a girl thing,” she explained.

            They blinked at her.

            Kira rolled her eyes, tilting her spoon at them from its position in the yogurt cup. “She got her period, _duh_.”

            Understanding dawned on the pair, nodding at each other in confirmation.

            “Got it,” Scott affirmed. “But gross.”

            “Next time we won’t ask questions,” Stiles agreed, patting his alpha on the back reassuringly.

 

x-x-x-x

 

            “Lydia, wait,” Calvin’s voice called from behind her, but she kept walking. She wasn’t going to let him see that he’d been able to hurt her feelings. They’d only know each other a short time and he couldn’t know that he was capable of having that kind of power over her. No one should be able to make Lydia Martin cry. “Lydia,” he addressed, a hand wrapping firmly around her upper arm. She didn’t realize he was so close, or she would have walked faster.

            “Let me go,” she hissed at him, tugging her arm to free herself. He didn’t release her, but his grip wasn’t rough either.

            “Not until you listen to me,” His tongue flicked out to his cracked lips, his mind running a mile a minute to come up with an adequate explanation for his insult. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m a really hot-headed person and I can’t handle it when I feel like people are rejecting me. You weren’t answering my texts even though you were looking at me and I thought…” he released a heavy breath of air, sighing gruffly. “It’s no excuse.”

            Lydia didn’t understand what he was trying to say. First, he was trying to convince her that it wasn’t his fault and that he felt ignored, but now he was saying that he couldn’t excuse his actions. The fact that he appeared so out of breath like he’d been running was setting off warning bells in Lydia’s brain. Something wasn’t right here, but she couldn’t put her finger on what.

            “I…” She wasn’t sure what to say next. “You called me a bitch!” Perfect.

            Annoyance rimmed his eyebrows. “I _said_ I was _sorry_.”

            “That doesn’t just make it go away.” She crossed her arms, determined to see this argument through. “You were out of line.”

            “You’re right, you’re right.” Calvin was quick to side with her, his fingers no longer pressing down on the skin of her upper arm in a tight grasp to prevent her escape but his fingers instead running along her forearm lightly. “I screwed up and I completely take the blame. I shouldn’t have been a jerk just because you’d rather sit with your _friends_ than _me_.” It was strange, because he’d begun with such genuineness laced in his soft tone, yet his last words were spoken with disgust and covetousness; suggesting it didn’t make sense for her sit with her best friends.

            “I guess I could be persuaded to forgive you…” There was no reason to hold a grudge for his poor display of anger because he was clearly regretting his choice. Maybe he had trouble trusting people. It had to especially be hard making friends at a new school, as Lydia knew she was all he had so far.

            “Good.” Calvin’s fingers stopped drawing circles on her arms, taking her hands in his affectionately. “Could you also be persuaded to… go to dinner with me tonight?”

            Lydia wanted to pull her hands away but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings again. It wasn’t that she wasn’t intrigued by him, because she was; but she could feel something deep inside of her instincts cause a tingling in the left side of her chest. She would call it a warning sign, but it felt like too strong of a word for such a slight sensation. It was barely even there.

            “I…” She’d gotten so used to ignoring things these days, so why start noticing them now? “Dinner sounds lovely.” But she felt it necessary to add, “If you’re paying.”

            Calvin chuckled wholeheartedly, squeezing her hands. “I can do you one better. I’ll cook.”

            “You cook?” Lydia pulled back, using her surprise it as an excuse to take her hands back. “We’re not talking mac and cheese or scrambled eggs?”

            He laughs again, and it makes her nerves stir in a good way. “We’re talking grandma’s helper in the kitchen for ten years.”

            It’s so adorable, Lydia wants to scream. But she won’t, because Scott, Stiles and Derek can barely handle the sound. She settles for a giggle and a continuation of their playful banter. “Please tell me you wore an apron!”

            “I have _pictures_.”

            “Then I guess you’re picking me up at my house at seven,” Lydia articulated, eyebrows jumping and her feet rocking against the back of her heels innocently.

            “And I guess you like steak?” He ends with a question, waiting for a nod of confirmation before letting his smile return. “Great. Steak and seven,” he reiterates, beginning to take awkward steps backwards to force himself to head toward his next class. He stumbles over his own feet as with his words, “ _I mean_ \- steak _at_ seven.” Calvin’s cheeks reddened.

            “I know what you meant.” His invite to dinner followed by their sweet banter had Lydia’s heart pumping at a brisk pace. When he finally disappeared around the bend of the hall, she let herself fall against a locker in a dreamy state.

            “God he’s cute.”

 

x-x-x-x

 

            Lydia was grateful that the day didn’t feel as long as it was. All she had to do was drop her books off at her locker and she could go home. A few hours after that, she’d be on a date with the interesting and gorgeous new student, Calvin Easley. They’d known each other for only four days, but she made a new friend and it was exactly what she needed. With him around, she didn’t feel as neglected by everyone else in her life. He noticed her.

            “There you are!” Scott McCall virtually appeared from thin air, popping up behind Lydia’s locker once she shut the door. Her eyes involuntarily rolled at the sight of him, but as usual he didn’t notice. “Ready to go?”

            She stares at him without a clue of what he’s talking about. “Go…” she drags out, “Go where?”

            “Home…? I drive you home every day,” he states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “But we’re going to stop at Chuckey’s burgers first because we’re all ravenous. Especially Malia.”

            Still hung up on his comment about driving her home every day, she disregarded the rest of his sentence. “Oh you _do_ , do you?” Lydia placed a hand delicately on her hip, her eyes squinting at him accusingly.

            “Yes?” Was it a question? Scott was nervous. The banshee could be terrifying when she wanted to be.

            But Lydia didn’t want to start a fight, not now. She wanted him to get what was coming to him, she wanted him to realize what a complete idiot he was being and she wanted him to wake the fuck up… but she didn’t want to have to _say_ it. “Did you say something about burgers?” She asks weakly, forcing herself not to say what she so desperately needed to get out.

            Once again, Scott was left with questions in regards to Lydia’s personality. But she was a strange person, and getting into it would only make things complicated. If she had something to say, she’d say it. It was part of what made her _her_.  “Yeah, let’s get moving before Malia reverts to her coyote behavior and eats a squirrel.”

            Meeting up with the others at Scott’s car was hell on wheels. Lydia was squished, one side against the car door and the other pressed up on the side of Malia’s large ass. It was a nice one, but it was _hers_ and therefore Lydia hated it. _She didn’t in any shape or form have_ _ass-envy_. Lydia’s eyes scoped over Malia’s figure, her gaze landing on her legs. _Or long tan leg-envy._

            “Do you like them?” Apparently, Malia had noticed the attention on her lower body.

            “What?” Lydia blanched, her nails digging into the skin of her pale thighs nervously.

            Malia shook her legs experimentally. “My legs. Do you like them?”

            This caught Stiles’ attention. Lydia could only be grateful to the universe that he hadn’t heard the part about getting caught looking at them. That would be weird and she did not need him developing a complex because she was a tiny bit jealous of the type of girl he’d go for. One that was nothing like her.

            “No!” Lydia responded automatically, shaking her head.

            Malia frowned.

            “ _I like them_ ,” Stiles nearly purred the words.

            Lydia couldn’t stop her face from contorting in pure detestation and abhorrence. She could practically see the sex-filled desire in his eyes, hear the craving in his voice. She wanted to scream. She _really_ wanted to scream. To calm her pulsing vocal chords, Lydia cleared her throat dramatically, trying to imitate the vibration a scream would cause in her throat. It was a banshee thing, and if she tried to explain it to one of her friends they would think she was crazier than they already did. They still didn’t even know that she would scream when she gets stressed out. It really helped bring down her anxiety these days. She was her own anchor.

            “ _Jesus_ ,” Scott groaned in annoyance from the front seat, rolling down his window half-way.

            “What’s wrong?” Stiles asked.

            “If I answer that you’re both going to get really embarrassed,” he told Malia and Stiles honestly, a wafting of their arousal filling his senses.

            Stiles sank back in his seat, because his friend had indirectly answered the question without saying the words. The rest of the ride to Chuckey’s was relatively quiet, and he could only be glad that he and Lydia weren’t on speaking terms right now. That meant she couldn’t make a jab at him for every miserable moment of that car ride.

            The group was settled with their food at the nearest booth. If Lydia weren’t completely aware that Scott was a werewolf, she would’ve thought he was one just by the way he chomped on the meat of his food. Kira seemed to notice to, a delicate smile playing on her lips when she reached over to rub her thumb over the ketchup on the corner of his lip.

            “ _Di’shoo getch it_?” He asked, his voice muffled by the mass amounts of food he was swallowing down.

            Stiles chuckled to himself as he came up with an idea. “Nah, there’s more.”

            Kira frowned as she scanned Scott’s face. “Where?”

            “Don’t worry I’ll get it,” Stiles told her, licking his thumb and reaching across the table for Scott. His friend pulled back at the sight of his friend’s saliva grazing his finger, completely grossed out.

            “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me!” Scott fell into Lydia’s lap to narrowly escape the boy’s thumb. Stiles laughed victoriously as he rubbed his entire hand over Scott’s face, ruffling his hair in the process. “Cut it out!” Scott demanded with a laugh that told him he didn’t take it seriously.

            Lydia was fuming. She didn’t want to be here, she didn’t want to eat this disgusting fast food and she wanted Scott to get the _hell_ off her lap. She wanted to be on her nice date eating steak with a handsome gentleman that never seemed to fail to make her feel good the moment their eyes connected. Not only did Scott have the audacity to completely forget about her on Monday, but he’d been disregarding her anger with him since. He hadn’t even remembered it when he brought it up today, daring to claim that he drives her home every day. Stiles was still ignoring her as well, pretending like she wasn’t even there no matter where they were the entire week; at lunch, in the hall, in the car, and even now at a fast food joint. Lydia Martin had officially had enough.

            “Get off of me!” She bellowed, shoving one hand at Scott and the other at Stiles. “Off, _now_!”

            They scrambled to get away from the pushy girl, everyone suddenly on edge. The situation was so light-hearted and sweet just a couple of seconds ago. Kira and Malia were in hysterics over Stiles’ antics and Scott’s desperation to escape. It only made them laugh a little harder when both boys landed on Lydia’s lap beside the window and for her to react the way she did took everyone out of the moment. They were all quiet and still, as if any sudden movement might set her off.

            “Jesus, Lydia, where’s the fire?” Kira chimed, watching the banshee in disbelief.

            “It’s nothing,” she hurried to repair her error, but they weren’t going to let this one go. They stared at her with expectation in their eyes, waiting for her to explain. When she took a moment too long, Scott crossed his arms in anger. Stiles stood straighter and narrowed his eyes.  Kira was wary and watchful. Malia was still trying to figure out if everyone else had figured out why Lydia was so angry. “It’s just that I’m going on a date tonight and I have like no time to get ready.” They already thought she was materialistic and selfish, right? They would believe this. It wasn’t completely untrue either, she really did have a date and precious time was wasting. It just hadn’t been the reason she blew her top.

            “A date!?” Kira’s face twisted until somehow a smile was there. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I would’ve gotten Scott to take you home before we went to Chuckey’s.”

            “Yeah, Lydia, you know I would’ve helped you out. All you have to do is ask,” Scott tells her, a hint of something genuine solidified in his gaze.

            “Who are you going out with?” Kira inquired, pleased that the mood was getting increasingly brighter and a few nearby patrons had stopped staring at them.

            Lydia wanted to keep him all to herself, but if she had to answer… “Calvin Easley.”

            “The new kid?” Scott questioned, startled. He was most definitely not Lydia’s type. He seemed like such a loner, he couldn’t see the boy getting on with many people in the school, especially not Lydia Martin.

            “You’re going on a _date_ with him!?” Stiles’ voice shocked everyone this time, as it was the first time he’d spoken to her in days. Lydia’s heart did that racing thing again that it loved to do when his eyes were on her. She didn’t really mind his critical tone as much as she should have; she just liked to know that he cared enough to judge her for it. But she knew she should be angry, because Calvin was her friend. And Lydia Martin defended her friends.

            “Yes I am,” she declared proudly, lifting her chin at him.

            “Isn’t he the one you told me about?” Scott turned to Stiles. “The one who beat up Blake?”

            Stiles nodded briskly, inverting his lips to suck them into his mouth before starting up again. “Yep! That’s the suitor our Lydia has chosen. So many nice normal candidates at Beacon Hills but once again, she goes for the last person she can trust.” Stiles’ nostrils flared, his eyes burning with enmity.

            “The last person?” Lydia scoffed at him, her lips parted at his ridiculous claim. “He’s the _only_ person who’s even bothered with me these past few days.”

            “Yeah Lydia, _days_ ,” Stiles stressed, animosity rising as he continued to berate her. “You don’t even know this guy and because he called you pretty you want to spread your legs for him?” He regretted the words the moment they slipped out, eyelids immediately shutting tightly in regret. Sometimes he wished he’d just put his foot in his mouth. Unfortunately his head and his heart sometimes did this thing where they’d cross boundaries and tie into each other and get all muddled until he isn’t sure what’s logical and what’s emotional.

            “ _Stiles_ ,” Scott reprimanded, disturbed by his choice of words. Kira was equally disappointed, her head shaking at him in a very Kira way that said “Not cool”.

            Lydia’s eyes watered and filled to the brim before she could blink them back. Her nose turned carnation pink and she sniffled. “Scott, will you take me home now please?”

            “Of course,” He slapped his napkin onto the table. “I’ll come back to get you guys in ten minutes,” he muttered, deciding not to look at Stiles. Lydia was already out the door waiting for him by his car when he finished collecting his things.

            “Scott…” Stiles touched his friend’s arm, guilt ridden. “I didn’t…”

            “I know, but you still hurt her feelings. Give her some time to cool off and talk to her tomorrow.” Scott felt a pull in his heart when he saw the pained look in Stiles’ eyes. “It’s all you can do, man. I’ll be right back.” He pressed a quick kiss to Kira’s cheek and headed for the parking lot.

            “For whatever it’s worth, I think you were right,” Malia piped up.

            Stiles sent a warning stare her way. Kira wanted to roll her eyes, but stopped herself.

            “I didn’t mean what you said, because that wasn’t right. But I don’t think Calvin would be a good fit for Lydia. He seems very…” she gestured wildly with her hands to find the word. “Strange.”

            “And if _Malia_ ’s saying it,” Kira agreed.

            “I’m not strange, I’m just new. Like you,” Malia defended.

            “Malia, I’m a new student, this is true. You however, are new at the entire human thing. You’re nine years behind.”

            “But I’m catching on quickly, right Stiles?” Her eyes blinked up at him, but he wasn’t listening.

            There was a far-away look in his eyes as he stared off into the distance, face plagued with guilt.

            “Stiles?” Kira prompted gently. “Are you okay?”

            “Yeah,” he jerked his attention back. “Yeah, I just feel kind of bad.”

            “You can apologize tomorrow.” Kira patted his shoulder. “It really wasn’t that bad. Get her some flowers or something and she’ll be over it like that,” she snaps her fingers for dramatic effect.

 

x-x-x-x

 

            Lydia wouldn’t allow Scott to apologize for Stiles’ actions. Sure, she wanted Scott to tell her he was sorry, but for something entirely different; and if he didn’t know the reason then she didn’t want it. After dropping her off, Scott wished her luck on her date and returned to Chuckey’s to gather the remainder of his friends.

            Now Lydia was sitting in Calvin’s car, admiring the gentle rainfall through his tinted windows. It had been raining the last time she was with him, too, only far more violently then. The radio was playing on low, left on some classic rock station that Calvin enjoyed. It wasn’t what she usually listened to, but she was able to enjoy it the same.

            “Why so quiet?” Calvin finally asked as he flipped on his cars right turn signal as he slowed to a stop. He was able to turn and look at her, the red light preventing them from going anywhere for the moment.

            Lydia tried to draw out her silence. If she waited until the light turned green then he couldn’t study her expression and catch her in a lie. She didn’t want to talk about her encounter at Chuckey’s, especially so soon after it happened. She was still processing Stiles’ insult and considering why he’d said it. Her eyes burned into the light fixture, pleading with it to turn. It stayed a solid shade of bright red, almost mocking her with its intensity.

            “I’m just tired,” she tried, smoothing her hands over her thighs as if she were cold. Lydia just didn’t want to be still, anxious under his withering stare. “What’s with the look?” She questioned, lifting a brow at him.

            “I can tell you’re lying,” he turned back to face the wheel, pressing his foot to the gas as the light finally switched. “But it’s okay. If you don’t want to talk about it we don’t have to.”

            Normally he was a little more aggressive in his approach. Although their friendship was new, he’d proven himself to be very pushy and difficult to avoid. It was necessarily a bad thing, but she was so used to lying to everyone else in her life that she didn’t think she could be honest. He was slowly but surely unraveling her lies and forcing her to be truthful with him; which is why it was so strange for him to just _let it be_.

Lydia decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and nodded appreciatively, “How far are we from your house?” She glanced upwards at the sky, admiring the rolling grey clouds covering the deep blue upper atmosphere. “It could turn into a storm out there.”

“Funny you should ask…” Calvin pulled his car into a small driveway, pulling the shift into ‘park’. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

She smirked, “It’s pretty.” She didn’t know what else to say, because if she were to be completely honest his home was a bit run-down. It was small and in serious need of a paint-job, but it was a home nonetheless.

“You’re lying again,” Calvin told her candidly. “It’s okay, I know it’s ugly.”

“No, it isn’t!” Lydia insisted. “I haven’t even seen the inside yet, don’t penalize me yet okay?”

            Calvin chewed on his inner cheek, eyes dropping briefly to admire her lips. The motion was so quick that Lydia wasn’t sure if she actually saw it, but she decided to take it in a positive light.

            “Okay,” he relented, his lips stretching into a smile. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to my brother.”

            Lydia followed his lead as he climbed out of the car. He waited for her to step out before extending his hand to take hers. She offered it to him without question, giggling as he ran for the cover of the overhang above the porch, tugging her behind him.

“Quickly, the water is toxic!” He pulled her into the dry shade of the porch, jokingly checking her for injuries with no indication of his nonsense written on his face. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Lydia only laughed harder, having never seen this lighthearted side of him before. Her heart melted when a shy smile made its way onto his face, his hand traveling up her arm slowly, loosely wrapping his fingers in her hair before running his thumb over her jaw gently. Growing increasingly nervous at his close proximity, her giggling faded into nothing, her lips parted ever so slightly.

Seeing this as permission to kiss her, Calvin began to lean in, lowering his face toward hers. Lydia’s breath caught, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to stop him. Remembering the way she was treated today, the way Stiles had been neglecting her, the way she’d turned down so many guys in the past month because she could only think of _him_ … she let her eyes slipped close. She deserved this.

Just as his breath tickled her puckered lips, the screen front door opened, swinging until it smacked against the masonry of the house’s siding. Lydia jumped back in surprise while Calvin maintained his composure as he always did.

What Lydia presumed to be Calvin’s older brother stood in the doorway, all scruffy and tall and thin. He was extremely attractive, but in a completely different way from Calvin. His hair was lighter and cut shorter, though he had facial hair whereas Calvin did not. He was thinner and taller, standing at what had to be a full 6’3’’. He was wearing a blue wife-beater and a pair of baggy dark blue jeans.

Showing no emotion at interrupting their kiss, Calvin’s brother reached a hand up to scratch his small beard. “You coming in or what?” He sounded tired, but part of Lydia believed he always sounded like that. He hadn’t even acknowledged Lydia’s presence.

            “Yeah,” Calvin said under his breath, a frown marring his handsome face. He was going to wait until his brother went back inside, but he was simply waiting there in the doorway for Lydia and Calvin. “Come on,” he whispered to Lydia, placing a reassuring hand on her lower back and leading her inside.

            Lydia didn’t like that this man didn’t bother stepping back to allow them through, only turning his body to let them barely squeeze through, his chest brushing against the arm of Lydia’s coat as she made her way inside. She didn’t see the look Calvin shot him.

            Deciding to take control of the situation and her out of control anxiety, Lydia extended a hand toward Calvin’s sibling confidently. “I’m Lydia,” she introduced firmly. She watched his expression change carefully, a glint in his eyes suggesting that he was impressed with her forwardness.

            Seeing his brother make no move to say his own name, Calvin tried one on for size. “Lydia, this is my older brother Forrest.” Just to piss him off he then added, “He’s 24 and unemployed.”

            Forrest sent Calvin a death stare. “Temporarily,” he told Lydia gruffly. “I’m just getting off my feet, I lost my job last month and I’m still looking.”

            “You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Lydia announced honestly.

            “We should get started on dinner.” Calvin glanced at Forrest. “We’re making steak.”

            “Will I be joining you on this dinner or is it a _private_ event?”

            “The more the merrier,” Lydia spoke too fast. Once again, she was having doubts about dating Calvin. If she could just make up her mind, that would be great.

            Forrest looked between the teenagers warily. He’d noticed the strange abruptness she spoke with, as had Calvin. No one commented on it, and for that Lydia could breathe a sigh of relief.

            “I only bought two steaks,” Calvin confessed.

            “That’s okay; Lydia and I can get started on the first two while you run out.”

            Calvin narrowed his eyes at his brother before turning to Lydia, lowering his head and voice at her. “Is that okay with you?” He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

            Lips set in a thin line, Lydia nodded briskly. Being alone with Calvin’s weird older brother wasn’t her favorite idea, but it wasn’t something she could say without causing some very big problems. What was the worst that could happen? If he were truly a bad guy, Calvin wouldn’t have brought her there in the first place. He was just a bit socially awkward, and it clearly ran in the family.

            “Okay, I’ll be right back.” Calvin grabbed his phone and keys, offering a wave at Lydia before rushing out the door. It was quiet for a long moment as Lydia watched the door close behind her _date_ , the rain still dripping onto the grass of his lawn.

            “You’re gonna have to do the heavy lifting,” Forrest began, “I’m not exactly a chef in the kitchen like my brother over there.”

            “So it’s true what he tells me then.” Lydia squinted her eyes at him. “Okay, let’s get started.”

Cooking with Forrest wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be, and he was nowhere near as creepy as she first believed. He was a loner-type like Calvin, that much she figured out. There was still a lot she wanted to know, but she wasn’t sure how to bring any of her questions up in a way that wouldn’t chase him off.

“So it’s just you and Calvin living here?”

“Sometimes my girlfriend stays here,” Forrest answers with a shrug, copying Lydia’s motions and dipping the second steak into the mixture of seasoning. She’s standing beside him, demonstrating the proper way to begin.

            “Where are your parents?” Lydia asked quietly, her heart picking up speed as he stilled his movements cautiously.

            “They’re dead.” It wasn’t a detailed response by any means, but Lydia decided not to mention anything else on the topic. It was clearly a no-fly zone when it came to conversation topics. They were silent for a couple of minutes until Calvin cleared his throat. “Uhm…” he began uncertainly.

            “What is it?” She prompted, turning the stove on. Within two clicks of the gas turning on, a flame appeared.

            “You care about him right? My brother?”

            Stunned by the question, Lydia only took a short second before responding. “Absolutely.” It was true; she cared for him increasingly so. Every day she liked him a little bit more. He was her rock this past week and she was going to return the favor even if it killed her.

            “I just wanted to tell you…” he stops his movements, turning to face her. He waited for her to do the same before continuing. “I just want you to stick by him. Promise me you will. He really needs someone in his life to ground him.

            “I will,” Lydia affirmed eagerly.

            “Calvin… Sometimes he does strange things,” Forrest explained delicately. Lydia already had a million questions but she waited for him to finish, as he might answer them in his small speech. “Things you won’t and really can’t understand. He’s got his issues, but he really is a good person and you need to trust him… even when things get bad.”

            “What do you mean?” Lydia found herself growing worried. Was something wrong with Calvin? Was he sick in some way? What if he had some horrible disease and a few months to live? What if he grew to be her closest friend and then she lost him? She shook her head, ridiculing herself at her overreaction.

            Neither of them noticed Calvin returning home, or standing in the middle of the foyer listening to them through the archway leading to the kitchen. He was watching them, suspicious of his brother’s wording.

            “Sometimes… he…”

            “ _Talking about me_?” Calvin knew it was time to cut in before Forrest said something they’d both later regret.

            “Calvin!” Lydia was put off by the alarm in Forrest’s voice and the way his hand slipped off the counter, stepping away from her like he’d done something wrong. She found that curious.

            “You know what Lydia, I’m really not feeling that well,” Calvin sounded cold and distant; like he didn’t even care that they’d planned a date for the night. He’d driven her all the way here, bought two steaks and then went out and bought a third, had her start cooking, and was now telling her… what exactly?

            “Are you okay?” Lydia took a step toward him, placing a hand on his crossed arms. His eyes stayed trained on Forrest for another second before he looked to Lydia, his darkened eyes suddenly light again as if nothing was wrong.

            “I’ll be fine, but I think I need to lie down for a while. Is it okay if you have one of your friends pick you up?”

            Lydia twitched at the question, dread curling in her belly. He wanted her to call one of her friends. As if she could actually handle seeing them right now after everything that happened at Chuckey’s today. But she wasn’t about to force him to drive her home, especially when he wasn’t feeling well enough.

            “Yeah,” she chirped meekly, suddenly finding the tile below her feet much more interesting than the entire night.

            “Thanks.” Calvin took her hand in his and squeezed it briefly. “I’ll make it up to you I promise.” His eyes cast upwards to his brother. “I think I need help finding my alarm clock. I need it for school tomorrow.” His intonation dropped significantly. “ _Will you help me_?”

            Forrest swallowed hard. “I think it’s on your bedside table.”

            “ _No I don’t think it is_ ,” Calvin clamored huskily, his face growing red with annoyance.

            “Yeah…” Forrest ran a hand down the back of his neck, heading for Calvin’s room with his younger brother close behind.

            Lydia stood there for a long moment as she considered the last few minutes. What the hell just happened? Why was Calvin acting so strange? Why was Forrest so intimidated by his _little_ brother who was far smaller and less awkward? It was as if Calvin had been possessed by something, like he was body-jacked in the frozen aisle of the grocery store.

            With shaky hands, Lydia dialed Scott’s number from her memory. It went straight to voicemail without a single ring. She already knew where this was going, even as she called Kira and it rang and _rang_ until her sweet awkward voice told her to leave a message after the beep. She knew where this was going as she sunk low enough to call one of the most materialistic girls at school, someone she used to call her best friend before the incident with the missing shoes.

            “Who’s this?” The snotty voice of Regan Fisher demanded.

            “It’s… Uh, it’s Lydia Martin.” She smacked her forehead. Confidence was key when talking to girls like Regan.

            “ _Lydia Martin?_ ” The girl cackled from the other end, whispering to a few people near her. “It’s Lydia Martin!” She cleared her throat before speaking to the humiliated girl again. “Wow, I deleted your number so long ago. Didn’t even realize you’d still have mine! But I guess you would.” Regan’s best defense was insulting people without directly saying it. She was a complete and total bitch, and Lydia no longer felt bad about stealing her heels in 10th grade.

            Deciding that these last few seconds were torture enough, Lydia hung up without even bothering to ask for a ride. She didn’t even bother with a goodbye, because the conversation was already pointless. Finally, she settled for where she all along knew this was going. She called Stiles.


	4. Pretty When You Cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for the emotional roller coaster ahead.

_Pretty When You Cry_

Chapter Three

            Lydia could see the irony in the fact that it was raining when Stiles pulled up in his jeep, just as it was when she yelled at him and he fiercely drove away. It was only a drizzle, but it was enough to ignite the anxiety rising in her chest when she saw the familiar car from her view in the kitchen window, slowly driving down the street to locate the right house number. While she waited for him to pull into the driveway, she remembered her brief discussion with him on the phone.

            _He picked up after three rings, just when Lydia thought he was going to screen her call. “Hello?” Came his fatigued answer. She could hear the sleep in the way he articulated his words._

_“Did I wake you?” She breathed, rubbing her arm to cool her nerves._

_“No,” Stiles answered quickly before sighing. She could almost hear him rubbing his eyes to make himself more alert “Yeah, but I wasn’t supposed to be sleeping. I passed out on my English homework.” there was a poignant silence. “I’m actually really glad you called.”_

_Goosebumps formed onto Lydia’s arms and legs, an unconfident shiver running through her shaking bones. She bit down on her lip hard to stop her teeth from chattering before telling him why she really called. “I was wondering if you could pick me up…” she trailed off, feeling slightly guilty at making him get her from her date’s home._

_“I thought you had a date…” As he pondered the reasons it may have failed, he was suddenly much more awake, the sleepy crack in his voice all but faded as he pushed himself into a sitting position atop his bed. “Is everything okay?”_

_“Yeah, yeah,” Lydia reassured, although she wasn’t very convincing in her argument._

_“Where are you?” The jingle of his keys could be heard from the other end of the line._

After giving him the address, it had taken him a mere 20 minutes to get to the house. She was so distracted by this memory that she’d almost forgotten he was there until she heard him knock on the front door. Somehow, Calvin got to the door first, as told by the opening of the door and the muffled sound of his voice.

            “Hey Calvin,” Stiles greeted, severely lacking enthusiasm. He tries to peer around Calvin, but his body is all but blocking the entire doorway. “Where’s Lydia?” After their brief phone call, Stiles drove all the way to Calvin’s house trying to convince himself that she was fine. If something was really wrong, she would have sounded much more upset, right? He just wanted to see her, the most genuine proof that she was really okay. Stiles still didn’t know why she needed to be picked up when her _date_ was perfectly capable of taking her home. It hadn’t been that long since he left Chuckey’s, so the dinner couldn’t possibly be over this soon.

            “Lydia, Stiles is here!” Calvin called to the girl without actually looking away from Stiles.

            “I know.” Neither had realized she was standing behind Calvin’s blocky figure. He stepped aside to allow her to pass the threshold.

            Stiles nodded at her unnoticeably, feeling himself grow significantly calmer at the sight of her. He backed up on the porch, taking a few steps down toward the driveway while still managing to wait for her to catch up.

            As she passed through the doorway, Lydia felt Calvin’s hand lightly graze hers in a loose grip. “Don’t let him try anything,” he whispered to her and her alone. Though she was giving him a very hesitant stare, he smiled wholeheartedly and added, “I’ll make tonight up to you, I promise.”

            Stiles paused on the stairs, his eyes trailing over the spot Calvin held onto Lydia’s wrist. “Are you coming?” He inquired impatiently, honestly just wanting him to stop touching her her without directly saying so.

            Without answering, Lydia pulled her hand away and muttered a goodbye to her date, following Stiles to his jeep. She climbed into the passenger seat with silence, her tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth to force herself to remain quiet until Stiles began the conversation.

            “Quick date,” he commented as he backed his car out of the narrow driveway. Stiles glanced toward the front windshield, where he could plainly see Calvin still standing in his doorway, his eyes trained on Lydia in the most focused possible way. It gave him a weird feeling, but he pushed it aside and averted his eyes, settling them on the rearview mirror to finish his journey to the street.

            “He had to cancel, he’s not feeling well.”

            “Looked perfectly healthy to _me_ ,” debated Stiles, his fingers firmly holding onto the rubber of the wheel. He had to be very careful with how this conversation went because he was already on thin ice after his earlier display of rudeness.

            “Yeah well no one asked you,” Lydia huffed, crossing her arms in determination.

            Stiles look at her from the corner of his eyes, shuffling his feet in their location by the pedals after pulling up to a stop sign. “Can we talk?” Trickles of rain splattered onto the window, the windshield wipers gently folding and swaying back and forth in a rhythmic sweeping potion, spreading the wetness and clearing the sight of the road.

“I thought we _were_ talking.” She knew what he meant, but she wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

            “Heh, yeah…” he chortled nervously, tapping his thumbs along the outer-rim of the wheel anxiously. “Funny.”

            “I thought so.” She returned her gaze to the window, feeling the heaviness of the car lurch slowly back into motion.

            “I meant about earlier… about what I said?” he finished lamely, a flush of white spreading up his neck and rendering his face pale and white.

            “I know what you meant.” Lydia refused to look at him, because if she did she would give in to his puppy-dog eyes and sweet dip of his forehead in that guilty way he did. Just listening to his nervous choice of words made her heart fall into her stomach, but she was adamant on him being the one to admit his wrong-doing here. She would settle for nothing less.

            Apart from the droplets of water hitting the pavement and cleaning Stiles’ jeep, the gentle hum of the cars motor and the clicking sound of his right-turn signal, the air was still. At least it was, until a hushed whisper broke all of Lydia’s resolve. “ _I’m really sorry_.” He sounded so sincere and regretful that she wanted to follow it up with her own apology.

            She watched his expression remain sorrowful, though he was focused on the road. He did a brief double-take, catching her thoughtful eyes. She wanted to tell him that sorry wasn’t enough, that he was guilty of more than just putting his foot in his mouth. But Lydia Martin wasn’t a confrontational person and she didn’t do well with telling other people how she felt. “It’s okay,” she told him breathlessly.

            Stiles frowned as he studied her fallen face, “It’s not,” he insisted. “I can tell.”

            “ _No_ it really is,” she lied through her teeth. “I’m just upset that the date ended early, it isn’t you.”

            He wasn’t sure that was a better answer. After a little though, he finally asked what he’d been dying to know. “So what really happened? And none of that ‘he wasn’t feeling well’ crap.”

            “He really wasn’t. He ran to the store while his brother and I started cooking and when he got back he was looking a little… pale.”

            Stiles put a hand up, still stuck on the ‘brother’ part. “Hold on one second, he has a brother? Two weird new guys at school?” He shakes his head at the idea.

            “ _No_ ,” Lydia scolds. “His brother is older than us. And don’t call Calvin weird.”

            Stiles can’t help his childish remark, “Sorry, didn’t mean to _offend_ you _Mrs. Easley_.”

            “Would you knock it off?” Lydia’s annoyance returns with a vengeance. How could she think Stiles was cute? He was a complete and total pain in the ass and the fact that she had feelings for him was the most obnoxious thing in the universe; right after him, of course.

            He obviously got the message, hearing the snarky edge in her demand. “So when is date number two?” Stiles asked, changing the subject.

            “I don’t know if there’s gonna be,” she shifted uncomfortably under his questioning gaze, staring out the front window as if she couldn’t see him. She pinched nervously at the skin of her exposed thigh peeking out from under her skirt.

            “Why not?” Stiles’ Adams Apple bobbed nervously. Talking about Calvin was uneasy territory, as Lydia was surprisingly protective of the boy after such a short time. Though he couldn’t possibly understand the strangeness that was their friendship, he knew it had something to do with her needing someone to rely on. It made him feel a twinge of guilt, but at least she had someone to connect with on a more intimate level now. Even if it didn’t make him happy, the guy was undeniably nice to her.

            “I don’t know if a relationship is what I need right now.” A relationship with anyone other than Stiles, that is. It wouldn’t be fair to Calvin to be with him when her heart was in the iron grip of another boy.

            “Think he’ll take it well?” He doubted it. Being rejected by Lydia wasn’t the nicest thing, and somewhere existed a list of boys that agreed.

            “I don’t know. There’s still so much I don’t know about the kind of person he is,” Lydia told Stiles, almost taken aback by how honest she was being in this moment. She hadn’t had a personal moment with the boy since the day of Allison’s funeral. Her heart squeezed on the sudden memory. No. She wasn’t going to cry just from thinking about that day. She refused.

            Stiles noticed the shift in atmosphere and Lydia’s sharp intake of breath. “What’s wrong?”

            “The rain stopped,” Lydia interjected before he finished asking, behaving as if he hadn’t uttered a word as she admired the sky, rolling down her window. The rain had in fact stopped, leaving the sky with deep streaks of blue raveled in with an ever so slight rainbow that Lydia could see if she looked at just the right angle. The hood of Stiles’ jeep dripped steadily, rolling along slick pavement.

            “You don’t say?” Stiles jested, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched her innocently poke her head out the window and observe the suddenly much greener trees and shrubbery. Flowers stood straight in the front lawns of homes, somehow appearing proud as they absorbed into their soil the water that kept them alive. Stiles was disappointed when he saw Lydia’s house come into view. This moment was going to end. “I’m really glad we did this,” he swore, the car pulling to a slow stop directly in front of her house.

            “Yeah,” Lydia had to admit that it was really amazing getting a chance to speak with Stiles one on one, even if the air was still poisoned by his neglect of their friendship this past month and a half. He was oblivious yet sweet at the same time.

            “Yeah,” he reiterated, his nerves rattling when her large eyes met his. “Maybe we can…” his voice trailed off as his eyes darted off somewhere behind her.

            “ _We can…_ ” Lydia pressed impatiently. “We can what?” Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. The idea that he could be asking her to hang out with him one on one had her blood burning and her heart wildly skipping. If he gave her a chance, if he got to know her again, he might see that she was finally seeing _him_ in a new way for months now. In the mix of her thoughts, Lydia realized he was still staring off. “Stiles?”

            “Isn’t that your mom?”

            Taken off guard by the question, Lydia blinked at him for just a second before turning around to face her house. Her mother was dumping an entire box of jewelry into the trash, tears furiously leaking down her red cheeks. “What the hell?” Lydia gasped, her hands clumsily reaching for the car door. She stumbled over the handle for a moment before managing to push it open, her only concern about getting to her mom.

            “Do you want me to come with you?” Stiles called, worry threading in his suggestion.

            “No, I’ll handle it,” she hoped he could tell that she was thankful, though.

            “Are you sure?” He waited until she looked in his eyes, the redheaded beauty standing in the open door of the passenger side with her lips set in a grim line. She nodded, forcing a reassuring smile that only folded into a bigger frown. “Okay,” he mouthed. A silent understanding was made through eye contact as Stiles quickly told her to call him if she needed anything before allowing her to run to her mother’s aid.

            “Mom, what are you doing!?” Lydia yelled when she was half-way across the yard, ignoring the way her expensive heels sank into the dirt and muddied them. She met up with her on the driveway, where she was still angrily throwing her things into the garbage.

            “Your father is suing me!” She cried, tears of frustration finding their way out of the corners of her eyes. “He wants to lower the child support and if possible… he wants custody of _you_. He thinks I’m an incapable parent and he has evidence that could persuade a judge,” she wipes at her eyes with her free hand, the other clutching onto a pearl necklace. She didn’t want to get rid of it.

            “What are you talking about?” Lydia shook her head. “What evidence?”

            “Your visits to hospitals, being out late at night and finding _bodies_ …” Natalie Martin gaped, shocked by her own words. How could she let things get so out of hand? “You’re sleep-walking out of the house and you wake up with mud on you, you’re best friend, that sweet innocent Allison was murdered by someone who was never caught!” She was completely losing herself, uncontrollably shaking as she listened to herself speak.

            “Mom…” Lydia tried, tears threatening to break. “They won’t just sign off custody, I’m seventeen and they know I’m old enough to make that kind of choice.”

            “Not if they think I’m a danger to you.” Natalie’s lips curled as she took in her daughter’s appearance. “Look at how much weight you’ve lost. How could I not notice that?”

            “Why does he want me to live with him?”

“His exact words were ‘mentally unfit to be a parent’.”

Lydia wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Her mother wasn’t the poster child for mental health, especially not lately, but she was most certainly not a bad person or a bad mom. Even though she was always working and traveling for business, she loved her with fierce devotion. “Why are you throwing all of your jewelry away?” Lydia’s voice broke, a hard lump of emotion forming in her throat.

            “Not all of it.” As Natalie visibly calmed down, she rubbed at her pink nose with a sniffle. “Just the things your father bought me.” Her lip curled in disgust. “I can’t look at it anymore.” With that, she tossed the necklace into the bin. It clanked once as it hit the side, landing pitifully at the bottom with a pile of other expensive gold and silver.

            Lydia’s eyes lowered, falling until they landed on the shiny wet grass, the sound of crickets growing louder as her mother’s sniffles drowned into nothingness and faded into the background.

 

x-x-x

 

            It was the next day that Lydia heard all about the party that “everyone” was going to. Tonight was the lacrosse game and there was a victory party scheduled for afterwards. It was confident of them to plan so far ahead, but it was mostly just another excuse to get drunk anyway. If Beacon Hills lost tonight, then the party would be a “pick me up” party. The most obnoxious part, it was being held at Regan Fisher’s house, ex-best friend slash psycho bitch. _There was really no reason for Lydia to bother making an appearance._

            Her eyes landed on a particular tall member of the McCall pack, leaning his elbow up against a locker as he chatted with his best friend. _Unless Stiles was going._ It was a split second later that Lydia decided screw it, and went for it.

            “Hey Stiles,” she greeted cheerily as she approached, her eyes flittering over to Scott. “Scott,” she nodded.

            “Hey Lyds,” Scott smiled. “Are you ready to watch me do amazing in tonight’s game?”

            “Well I did place a 20 dollar bet that you would, so make me proud, McCall.” Okay, so it was a lie, but it made his smile grow broader and that was what really mattered. Most people knew better than to bet against Scott at this point, but she’d be willing to put down money if someone asked.

            “But you believe in me too, right?” Stiles faked a pout, blinking down at her sadly.

            Lydia inadvertently blushed, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. “I have some faith.”

            “There’s my girl!” Scott interrupted his attention elsewhere as he watched Kira fumble with her locker combination. “Excuse me,” he muttered to his friends, not even glancing toward them as he made a quick stride toward his girlfriend.

            Lydia rolled her eyes at Stiles, who simply chuckled. “I was going to ask…” she began, frustrated with herself for being nervous. “…Are you going to the party tonight?” If Stiles wasn’t going to go with her then she didn’t want to go at all.

            Dread filled Stiles’ stomach and constricted his chest, his eyes bulging as he took in the anxious way she kicked her foot along the tile and the hopeful way she regarded him. She wasn’t going to ask him to go with her, was she? No way. “ _Oh_ …Yeah,” Stiles half-shrugged, leaning his left elbow against the locker and scratching his hand along the back of his neck. “…With Malia.”

            Lydia’s breathing labored and her chest tightened painfully, immediately feeling both foolish and embarrassed for even attempting to ask him to accompany her. Of course he was going with Malia. They practically had a label on their relationship. “Right,” she choked out, forcing the words to burble out like a robot. “I’m going with Calvin so that’s cool.”

            Stiles removed his arm from the locker, his eyebrows sinking. “You are?”

            “Yeah, he asked me and I said yes,” Lydia lied automatically.

            “But you said you weren’t going to date him.” Stiles crossed his arms. “You said you didn’t think there would be a second date. That you probably weren’t interested.”

            “I never said I wasn’t interested,” Lydia said pointedly.

            Stiles thought it over. “I’m pretty sure you did!”

            Lydia shook her head at him as he mulled it over some more. “I didn’t say that. I wasn’t sure how I felt, but now I know that I’m really into him. It might even turn into something… _more_ ,” she stressed, just to make him squirm. She knew it was mean but she couldn’t help herself, she had to rub it in after putting up with his Malia flirtations this past month.

            Stiles flinched like she’d struck him. “Okay, if you’re sure.” He scratched his chin as the situation grew increasingly awkward. “Hey, what happened with your mom last night? Is everything okay?”

            Lydia’s eyes darkened, “Yeah,” she whispered to the air. “Don’t worry about it Stiles. Just family stuff.”

            He could understand that. “Well, if you need anything give me a ring. You know I’m only a few blocks away,” he told her as he began to back away, prepared for the bell to ring as he threw her a wink.

            Lydia felt her cheeks grow hot but successfully waved a goodbye at him anyway.

 

x-x-x

 

            It was at lunch that Lydia regretted not shooting Calvin a quick text and asking him to go to the party with her. She should’ve just done that… Instead of waiting until now to take him aside and ask him in person. Because now she was trapped and she didn’t have a chance to ask before Stiles stopped him in the hall and said,

            “Come sit with us.”

            “With you guys?” Calvin lifted his eyebrows at him. “You and your friends?”

            Lydia’s eyes darted back and forth between the two boys. Was Stiles playing at something? Why was he inviting him to sit with them? Was he going to find out she was lying? What if he already knew? She shook herself to clear her racing thoughts, watching Calvin carefully for his answer. _Please say no_. Otherwise the party would come into the topic at some point and Stiles would find out she was a big fat liar.

            “Yeah,” Stiles nods. “Being new is hard. We pretty much take in all the new kids. Kira and Malia were new when we took them into the pa-…” he stopped himself short. “Our group of friends.”

            “Okay, sure.” Calvin runs a hand through his floppy black hair, mussing it up as he follows Stiles into the cafeteria. He glances toward Lydia, who has panicked eyes, even as she sits between Kira and Calvin.

            “So, Calvin.” Stiles moves to sit across from him, loosely wrapping an arm around his girlfriend who is currently sucking on a lemon. “How do you like Beacon Hills so far?”

            Scott shoots Kira a look across the table, mouthing a “What is he doing here?” to her discretely. She shakes her head at him, appearing just as shell-shocked.

            “It’s a little bland for my taste,” Calvin quipped, though his voice remained monotone and subjective.

            “Bland, huh?” Stiles smirks, sending Scott a look that suggested they were in on some joke. Scott just stared at him blankly, like he wasn’t sure what his friend was trying to do. “Beacon Hills, _bland_ , I haven’t heard that one before.”

            “Well it _is_ very normal,” Lydia stresses, her eyes sending Stiles a silent warning.

            Calvin can tell he’s missing something here, but can’t put his finger on what. Either way, he’s intrigued by this chain of events because they’re obviously headed somewhere interesting.

            After seeing Lydia’s expression, Stiles backs off a bit. “Scott, you and Kira are coming to the party with me after the game right?”

            “Yeah, definitely,” Scott proclaims as he crams a couple of French fries into his mouth messily.

            “Lydia, are you and Calvin gonna need a ride?” Stiles asks casually as he places his arms on the table, one hand playing with the wrapper of a straw without him consciously being aware of it.

            “I…” She trails off as she takes a look at the dark-haired teen, his face the color of confusion. “He has his own car,” she finishes lamely.

            Kira’s eyes widen and then narrow before enlarging once more. “You guys are going to the party together?!” Her mouth parts excitedly. “That’s awesome!”

            Calvin blinked at the group before him. “Okay,” he started, licking his lips with puzzlement written in the soles of his eyes. “How out of the loop am _I_ right now?”

            Even as he began to speak, Lydia knew no good could come of whatever he was about to say. He was about to spill the beans and Stiles was going to figure out that everything she said had been a stupid childish rouse to get him to think that she didn’t like him as much as she did. He was going to think she was pathetic and he was going to calmly reject her and tell her that he was with Malia. He was going to stop hanging out with her as much because of the awkwardness that came after and the group dynamic would fall apart, and with it would Lydia. She couldn’t let that happen.

            So when Lydia’s lips crashed against Calvin’s, the absurdity that would eventually come of it, the trauma that Lydia did not realize was coming in just a few short months during that moment of panic… It was going to be worth it. Right?

            The entire group was stunned by the show their friend was putting on.

            The moment Lydia’s lips were on Calvin’s, Stiles jumped in surprise, and then instantly revolted with a turn of his eyes. Scott pulled back from his drink, straw still hanging limply in his mouth and droplets of soda falling onto his jeans as he watched the pair go at it. Malia and Kira faired no different, though Kira was watching with a small smile adorned on her lips. She was the only among them doing so.

            It was unexpected, but not unappreciated. Calvin immediately wrapped his arms around her body and pulled Lydia closer to him on the seat, hearing Kira let out a silent “ _oh_ ” as she scooted her butt away from the increasingly sexual pair. There was something extremely arousing about the way that Lydia pressed her lips against his right in front of all of her friends, telling them that she belonged to him. He could see that it was what she was telling them, it was the reason she kissed him. Lydia was declaring her love for him, and they were going to be together now. She was his.

            Lydia pulled her head back suddenly, quick to push Calvin’s hands off her lower back as the humiliation of her circumstance hit her full force. All of her friends were staring at her, their mouths agape.

            “That was a nice kiss,” Malia told her, unafraid of her own thoughts.

            Lydia flushed at the direct comment, while Calvin just nodded in agreement, leaning his chin against his hand thoughtfully. His smile was wide and genuine.

            When she finally looked at Stiles, she saw him quietly staring down at his food, jabbing his fork lazily into his noodles while his cheek leaned against a closed fist.

            She felt Calvin lean in to whisper to her, “Pick you up at seven.”

 

x-x-x

 

            Beacon Hills wins the lacrosse game by a landslide, and everyone is exhilarated. Already, families are packing up to make their way home with young children while the players and students just get their nights started, heading for the same destination with bouncy upbeat moods. Girls gather with their closest friends, giggling with scrunchy colorful curls and skin-tight shorts in stereotypical teenage fashion. Couples reunite, holding hands and cheering as they meet up with the rest of their friends.

            Lydia isn’t feeling the spirit so much as everyone else, but she still manages a smile at Calvin and even applause when Beacon Hills is declared the champs. Kira, Malia and Lydia collectively shouted encouragements at their favorite lacrosse players and screamed whenever they scored a goal.

            Now she was waiting at Calvin’s car for him to come back from the restroom. He missed the last ten minutes of the game, but there was no doubt he heard chatter in the bathroom about their victory. As Lydia waited, she realized that he’d been gone a lot longer than he should have been, so she shot him a quick text.

            “Lydia!” Kira shouted from where she stood with Malia on the grass. They made their way through the first few parking spaces in the lot until they were in front of the redhead. “How _amazing_ was that game!?” The dark haired teen laughs happily.

            “I’m starting to understand what I’m seeing!” Malia declared proudly, tugging on the strings of her sweat jacket.

            “That’s great,” Lydia feigned happiness.

            “Do you need a ride to the party?” Kira frowned as she took in the fact that the girl was standing here alone. “We’re meeting up with Scott and Stiles now.”

            Lydia couldn’t just leave Calvin behind, and being a fifth wheel was not on the menu for tonight. She was supposed to have a date, and she wasn’t going to be miserably sitting in the corner alone like the last few parties the group dragged her to. No one ever noticed her, and she spent more than half of her nights at them getting hit on by the creepiest guy there. So she settled for a,

            “No, Calvin’s taking me.” Lydia’s eyes flickered toward the small building the nearest bathroom was situated, right near the boy’s locker room. “He’s just in the bathroom.”

            Kira bounces onto her tippy toes, her face growing bright and pink. “Aw, how sweet!” She pulls gently on Malia’s arm. “We’ll see you there, then! Maybe you’ll play beer pong with me and Scott.”

            Lydia lifts one delicate eyebrow at the Kitsune. Kira was going to play beer pong?

            Seeing the reaction she got, Kira rolls her eyes playfully. “Scott wants to show me. He thinks it would be funny. But I’ll let you in on a secret,” Kira cups her hand over her mouth like she’s whispering. “I’ve got fantastic aim.”

            “Let’s _go_ , Kira!” Malia begs, growing bored with this conversation.

Finally relenting, Kira throws a wave at Lydia and jogs behind Malia across the parking lot to Scott and Stiles. They quickly disappear out of Lydia’s field of vision.

            After absorbing the past minute of discussion, more words than Lydia had spoken all day, she spun back around to scan the area. There were some scattered last minute teens, grabbing their things and shuffling into their rightful cars or hanging around doing nothing; but for the most part, this side of the school was very empty.

            Now that Kira and Malia cleared out, she could finally go find Calvin. They were going to be late to the party. Not that it really mattered. What would she be missing really; her friends all making out with each other? Getting pointed and laugh at by Regan Fisher? Watching Stiles be with someone else and be so damned happy about it?

            Lydia approached the men’s restroom warily. She couldn’t just walk right in, someone could be there. Her knuckles grazed the door.

A disruptive sound makes her jump involuntarily, the squeaking of wet hands along a porcelain sink and the hushed noise of what could be whispering.

“Calvin?” Lydia knocked the back of her fingers along the wooden surface of the men’s restroom. She didn’t know if anyone else was in there, or if it was really just him. As she slowly pushed the door open, just a crack, she listened carefully for any movement,

“ _Stupid, stupid, stupid…”_ It was unmistakably Calvin, who was angrily smacking his hands against the sink and getting water all over his hands.

Lydia peered around the bathroom door, remaining unseen by the hyperventilating boy whose head was looking down at the dripping faucet, unseeing of her clear reflection in the mirror directly in front of him. His face was bright red, drops of saliva flying from his mouth as he panicked. “STUPID!” He slams his hands against the sink again, then reaching up to start tugging at his wet hair, curled from the perspiration he’d released in his sweaty red haze. Calvin tears at his strands, crying to himself in complete desolation.

Lydia wants to back away. She wants to leave the bathroom right now and she wants to be anywhere but standing behind him. But she was entirely in the room now, and with any movement to sudden he would catch her. He’d know she saw something she clearly wasn’t supposed to. Was this what Forrest was warning her about? Did Calvin suffer from some delusions? Did he have some kind of anxiety problem; was he bipolar or something? She really didn’t know what kinds of questions to ask herself, but right now she didn’t want to know. Lydia wanted to get away from this room, and she wanted to collect her thoughts. But he couldn’t know she _saw_.

Her heart squeezed and pulsated painfully when she saw Calvin’s breath catch. He was holding it. Lydia couldn’t help the panicked gasp that escaped her lips, her nails digging sharply into the palms of her hands when his head slowly lifted upwards. His steady gaze caught hers in the mirror.

“ _Calvin_ ,” Lydia shuddered a breath, shaking violently. She had no idea what was happening or what Calvin was experiencing. But he did not look happy with her.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” He demanded with ferocity, all at once abruptly turning to rush toward her like a storm and grab her arms roughly. He swallows hard, his face contorting like he can’t control himself. “Are you watching me?” He’s below a whisper now, threatening and demonic.

“ _No, no…”_ Lydia insisted, the frightened horror she felt transmitting through her squeaking voice. Pride was nothing to her in this moment. “I…” She attempted, her jaw chattering more intensely than she wanted it to. It was difficult to speak, to even _think_ properly when her heart was hammering the way it was, when his hands were clutching her upper-arms. “I was _w-w_ …” she takes a small breath to calm herself. “Worried.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Worried?”

“You were gone a while so I came looking for you. We were going to the party…” she trails off quietly. “Remember?”

Calvin’s hands release her suddenly, and she gasps as he does, taking a few cautionary steps backwards. His eyes stare somewhere behind her, at the dirty tiled wall. “I must’ve forgotten.” He blinks a few times, like he’s waking up somehow. “Are you ready to go, then?”

Lydia’s eyes bulge at him, she can’t help it. His personality completely switched, like the last minute didn’t happen and he didn’t scare the hell out of her. She was still shaking even now, flustered and pasty-skinned. She couldn’t even answer properly, because she was just too shocked by it all. Instead, she nodded, because she wasn’t sure what would happen if she tried to walk away.

 

x-x-x

 

Lydia would feel okay once she was with her friends. That was what she kept repeating to herself beside Calvin in his car, holding onto the seatbelt like it was most dear to her, her heart still fluttering painfully in her chest as the car rolled along a residential neighborhood. It was dark out, just like the mood inside of the car. She was uncomfortable, and frankly, still a little scared.

            Calvin sniffled, turning his wheel to the right to turn onto the correct street. “Why are you being so quiet?” He asked firmly, his eyes speaking with judgment when he glanced sideways at her.

            Lydia fumbled with her words for a second, “I wasn’t! I-…” _Breathe_. “I’m just thinking about the girl whose house this party is at. She used to be my best friend and… she’s not so nice to me now.” It was a good an answer as any, and it still managed to be true. There was no way he couldn’t believe her. With the nod of acknowledgment she received, she knew she made the right choice. He seemed to be able to detect her lies and the truth.

            “That makes sense,” Calvin chews on his lower lip, and then reaches a hand over to graze Lydia’s gently. She stiffens at first, but forces her body to relax. She just needs to get to her friends. “You know if you don’t wanna go…”

            “No! I do!” Lydia can’t help how quickly she answers. “It’s okay, I still want to go.” She lifts her lips at him. “It’s a victory party, after all!”

            “Can’t miss that,” Calvin teases wholeheartedly.

When Calvin and Lydia show up at the party, they can hear the DJ playing in the backyard even from the front. Regan’s party is as extravagant as always, lavish and filled with activities. Even the inside of the house was a party-zone, a usual no-zone in most high school parties.

            As they approach the front door, they pass a drunk teen trying to stop his friend from driving.

            “No man, you’re _waaaay_ too drunk!”

            His friend nearly falls onto him, “No man _you’re_ drunnnk!”

            Lydia is tempted to say something sarcastic when they both fall onto the grass and burst into a fit of giggles, but she holds her tongue. She isn’t feeling particularly sassy right now.

            Calvin leans over Lydia to knock on the door, and she, annoyed by the motion, places her hands on her hips and blinks upwards animatedly.

            “You’re cute when you’re annoyed,” he comments shyly.

            Her hands slowly but surely drop to her sides. He was truly hot and cold. “What?”

            The door swings open and Regan is standing there smelling like she consumed large amounts of alcohol and her eyes glossy and unfocused. “Oh my godddd!” She lets out a hoot of girlish laughter, flipping her straight blonde hair behind her. She was leggy and thin, standing at 5’10’’ in her pink flats. “Lydia, why did you come to my partyyyy?” She drawls drunkenly.

            “Everyone’s invited,” the redhead snapped.

            “Everyone not _you_!” She specified, her neck extending unnaturally so she could put her face rudely in Lydia’s. “Now get off my property or I’ll call the cops!”  
            “Yeah, be sure to mention how much you had to drink,” Lydia retorted skillfully, folding her arms in a way that suggested she’d never back down.

            Regan narrowed her eyes. “Tell you what; you can hang out in the backyard only. But you can’t come inside,” she wagged her finger at Lydia for effect, sliding against the door, completely and totally intoxicated.

            “That’s not very nice,” Calvin clucked his tongue at the blonde.

            “ _Well_ ,” Regan slides her right leg up, rubbing it against the thigh of her left leg. “ _You_ can come inside.” She pulls on the collar of Calvin’s shirt to tug him indoors, but he gently and firmly removes her fingers and moves back to stand beside Lydia.

            “Fuck you Regan, just let us in!” The redhead spouts in frustration

            “N-O,” Regan spells out, clearly enjoying every moment of Lydia’s torture. “Take the backyard or I’ll have my boyfriend remove you from the premises himself.”

            “What’s so bad about the backyard, Lydia?” Calvin suggests giving in. “There’s tons of people outside; it has to be cramped inside.”

            Lydia chewed on her lip sadly. Her friends were probably inside with the cold alcohol instead of hanging around by the DJ with red cups. “Backyards fine,” she grumbles, stomping her way down the porch steps and walking through the side-gate of the house in humiliation. Calvin runs to catch up with her.

            “I can get us some drinks?” Calvin offers helpfully, feeling the positive vibe of celebrating teenagers as they enter the bustling backyard. The music is much louder now, almost intimidatingly so.

            “Okay go do that.” Lydia brushes him off, wagging her hand at him like shooing a bug.

            He regards her with suspicious eyes for a moment, but does as he’s told and makes his way through the crowd to locate the source of the alcohol.

            Lydia scans the party-goers hurriedly. She wants to find one of them before he gets back. If she can find one of them, one of them can lead her to Stiles. She wants to talk to him. He said he was always there for her. He said that and she needed him _now_. He was the only one she could comfortably tell about Calvin’s strange behavior and how uncomfortable it was making her. Something about him made her not want to confront him directly, and she hated that. She _hated_ that _anyone_ was capable of making her feel the need to be quiet.

            She peers through the windows of the house, and her eyes fall on Kira. The Kitsune’s head is reeled backwards as she clearly laughs at something she finds hysterical. She playfully hits whoever is next to her, revealed a second later to be Scott by the tilt of a head. They’re sharing half a bottle of vodka, and Kira’s face makes a bitter twist as she takes each sip.

            Immediately, Lydia knows she needs to get inside the house. If she just strides through the backdoor, no one could really stop her. As long as she avoided Regan, which wouldn’t be hard considering how wasted she was, she’d be okay. She just had to be in there long enough to grab Stiles and get him somewhere they could talk. It was frightening, because Lydia was putting her heart on her sleeve by doing this. She was going to trust him with her feelings again.

            It was pretty easy to follow behind another two people when they entered the house, detaching from them when they hung a left. Lydia finally locates the spot Kira and Scott were just standing in, but they aren’t there anymore. “God damn it,” she mutters to herself. Of course this would happen. “Hey John!” She stops a familiar face.

            “Hey Lydia,” he looks back at his friends briefly, who are all chuckling at the sight of him talking to Lydia, currently town’s weird-o after a lot of circulating rumors about her being schizophrenic.

            “Have you seen Kira and Scott? Or Stiles and Malia?”

            The lacrosse player scratches his chin as he considers what he’s going to tell Lydia. “Yeah, Kira and Scott were here a minute ago. They headed down to the basement to play beer-pong.”

            “What about Stiles and Malia?” She presses urgently.

            John tosses his friends one more look and regards Lydia, admiring her body without any attempt to be discrete about it. “They’re upstairs,” he tells her calmly. “First room on the left.”

            Lydia’s eyes are sour now, “ _Thanks_ ,” she answers almost sarcastically, bitterly heading for the steps as his friends whistle and howl behind her mockingly.

            “What do the voices in your head tell you?” One of the boys shouted at her back, receiving rewarding high fives from John and a friend beside him at the hilarious insult.

            Lydia ignored the stinging in her eyes, focusing at the task at hand. There wasn’t any time to give some stupid jocks the satisfaction of seeing her in pain from something they said. They couldn’t have the power to do that.

            “Stiles?” Lydia pushed the door open, her entire being freezing when she realized it was a bedroom. Unfortunately, that didn’t hit her until she saw the bed and the two people making out on top of it.

            The pair broke apart in embarrassment. Stiles’ eyes lifted in annoyance. “Jesus, Lydia. Knock much?” He pulled his shirt back over his head, finding the moment suddenly destroyed. It had begun so perfectly. Malia had coaxed him upstairs after spending the last half hour grinding on him to the bump of the music, whispering dirty things into his ears and getting him thoroughly turned on. His fingers had just begun to graze the skin below her shorts, her lips had just begun to kiss _that_ spot right under his ear (after telling her he liked it), and then Lydia Martin was busting through the door like she _had_ that right.

            “I didn’t realize,” Lydia started, a fogginess settling and clouding her senses. Were they about to have sex? “I didn’t…” She spins around, her cheeks growing bright red. “I just wanted to talk to you,” her voice breaks as the tears fill her eyes again.

            “Like you didn’t know where the bedroom was in your best friend of 10 years’ house.” Stiles wasn’t buying any of it. “Not cool, Lydia.”

            Lydia couldn’t believe him. What in the world did he think she was trying to do? _Stop_ them from having sex? Other than the obvious, she had no reason to do that, and really had no desire to! If they were going to boink, it was their choice, but she didn’t want to know anything about it, especially not see it firsthand. The fact that he was seriously pinning this on her right now, especially when she was about to come to him about something that was bothering her… How dare he?

            “Lydia?” Calvin joins them in the room, having been searching for Lydia for the past couple of minutes. The situation, _somehow_ , got even more awkward.

            Stiles’ mouth was agape, looking between the pair like they had two heads. “Uhhh,” he wavers his hands frantically. “GET OUT?” To state the obvious.

            Malia is ready to explode with anger at Lydia Martin and her dumb weirdo boyfriend intruding on an intimate moment that belonged strictly to her and Stiles. Stiles’ naked chest was hers and she didn’t want the prying banshee’s eyes on his body in any shape or form. If she could stop her from looking at his face, she would’ve clawed out her eyes ages ago. Unfortunately, that was against some stupid human ‘friend’ code.

            Calvin is still staring in surprise when Lydia runs out of the room.

            “CALVIN!” Stiles almost roars.

            The raven-haired green-eyed teen snaps his head to look at Stiles, like he’s only seeing him for the first time.

            “Freakin’ leave!”

When Calvin finds Lydia crying in the backyard, he isn’t as bewildered as he feels he should be. And that bothers him tremendously. She doesn’t even seem to care that he can see her, that she looks like a fool crying about some other boy in front of her _boyfriend_ … How dare she? Calvin’s eyes trailed over Lydia’s broken figure. He was going to show her not to mess with his heart like this, not to mock him with her feelings for someone else.

            “Let me drive you home,” Calvin advised, his hand reaching out to comfort her, rubbing his thumb along her cheek to wipe away the tear that leaked out.

            She sobbed in response, her face a puffy mess of streaky mascara and cheeks moistened by tears. Calvin’s thumb trailed down her face slowly, pausing once he reached her plump ruby red lips. His eyes stopped there too.

            “What are you-…”

            “Sh,” he silences her, his index finger pressing the motion against her lips. While licking his own, Calvin rubbed his thumb over her smooth lips; smearing the red along the paleness of her ivory skin. It spread heavily, the clay-like clumps caught on Lydia’s chin and the corner of her lips. His eyes darkened considerably. “You’re so beautiful.”

            When she’s finally sitting in the passenger seat of his car, Lydia’s feeling a little bit calmer, though her anxiety is rising and falling periodically. She’s rubbed the rest of her lipstick off with a napkin, still momentarily stunned by his earlier actions when running his thumb over her mouth. She’d looked like a vampire with the redness smeared across her mouth and chin, sticking like dried blood, messy and scandalous.

            He’s driving her home silently for a good 5 minutes before Calvin begins to act up. “You were crying,” he says, an edge to his tone.

            Lydia’s eyes flutter over the dashboard nervously. “I was just a little upset,” she excuses, folding her hands together and squeezing tightly. She has that strong urge to scream again.

            “A little, hm?” His eyes are on her accusingly for a long five seconds before he returns to the road. “You seemed pretty fucked up to me.”

            “I don’t know, maybe.”

            “Maybe?” Calvin shoots back abruptly. “How do you not know?”

            “ _I don’t know_ it just happened really fast.”

            “What did?” He snarls. “Running to Stiles? Finding him in bed with Malia?”

            “I wasn’t running to him,” she whispers in quiet defense.

            “Oh no?” He clenches the wheel tightly, the speed of the car picking up slightly along with his anger, unraveling faster than she’d anticipated. “I finally treated you like you’ve wanted me to, finally took control, and you go and you _run_ to Stiles. That’s exactly what you did, don’t lie to me Lydia.”

            “You kind of freaked me out after this morning!” Lydia shouts suddenly. She isn’t going to take this crap from any person, especially not a man, trying to take control of _her_ life. It’s hers. It was always hers and he isn’t going to take her own power away after a god damned week. Her self-esteem wasn’t _that_ low. “I’m not going to let you treat me this way! Why did you grab me like that, Calvin? And then act like nothing happened?”

            “You’re my girlfriend, Lydia,” Calvin’s teeth are grinding the car moving faster now.

            “I’m not, Calvin. I never was. We’re friends, we have been… We can be friends again if you explain yourself and you stop… being like this.”

            “Stop lying!” Calvin demands angrily, smacking his fist against the wheel. “Tell me you’re my girlfriend, that you’re not in love with Stiles.”

            “I can’t… Calvin.”

            The car goes faster now, approaching 70 mph.

            “Calvin, slow down.”

            “Say it,” he sneers roughly, the muscles in his arms flexing and twitching as he maintained a tight grip on the wheel, his face breaking into a sweat as he slams his foot on the gas. “SAY IT!”

            “Calvin, please!” Lydia cries, her feet splayed against the ground and her hands outspread, panic and terror taking complete control of her body as she experiences an anxiety attack. “CALVIN PULL OVER!” Lydia pleads, wetness spreading down her bright cheeks, her lips curling as her body shakes with a hysterical cry. “I’m your girlfriend, Calvin!” She sobs. “I’m not in love with Stiles, I’m not I swear!” Her head is shaking at a fast-pace, her hair swinging around her shoulders at the speed she does it. “I’m not, I’m not…” she repeats in a mantra.

            Calvin doesn’t slow down, though he acknowledges her statement. He keeps his foot on the pedal as they approach a very large brick wall, hearing the banshee let loose a scream that only someone of supernatural ability could let loose. It hurts his ears so badly that he almost forgets to switch to the brake to give him enough time to stop the car before they really do hit the wall.

            The car lurches and screeches, loosing traction and skidding along the road until it stops with a sudden jerk, the bumper inches from hitting the wall. Lydia falls forward in her seat, the seatbelt the only thing stopping her from slamming her head against the dashboard as the airbags deploy.

            After taking several large gulps of air, she turns her head to look at Calvin.

            He lets out a heavy choke of air and then reveals a set of pearly white teeth to Lydia as he grins mischievously, like a child playing a prank on its mother. “That was all you had to say.”

            As a crowd forms around the car to see if they’re alright, Lydia faints.


	5. We Must Be Killers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter come and gone. I was a little disappointed with the writing in this one, but I hope that’s just my author paranoia. I got writers block a few times during this, but I was determined to finish it quickly before my crazy week ahead. Also, new Teen Wolf tonight, guys! Get bouncy.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who bothered to leave reviews, whether on here or FF.Net or on my tumblr, you’re all so amazing for caring enough to do that. Bless your faces.

**_We Must Be Killers_ **

_“I woke up; I was stuck in a dream._

_You were there, you were tearing up everything._

_We all know how to fake it, baby._

_We all know what we’ve done.”_

Four

 

            The confusion Lydia felt when she woke up was the most indescribable feeling in the world. She was in her own bed, in her own room with not the slightest idea of how she got there. Everything was a blur, she couldn’t remember passing out. Calvin was driving fast to frighten her, and she could remember him stopping just before the wall. It was only once she told him that she didn’t love Stiles, that she was with him.

            She was still in her dress and most of her foundation was still on her face, though smeared in places, which told her that it was still the same night. One look out her window didn’t do anything, as it was pitch black except for a few dim street-lights. Had Calvin brought her home?

            “Lydia?” Natalie knocked gently on her daughter’s bedroom before opening it slowly. “I see you’re finally up.”

            “What happened?” Lydia’s eyes flickered. There was no way she could know the truth about the last few hours, it was impossible. Calvin wouldn’t tell her mom what he did and no one had really been around to witness it.

            “You fell asleep in Calvin’s car while he was driving you home,” Natalie explained easily, taking a seat on the end of Lydia’s bed, brushing off some invisible dust. “He brought you upstairs,” she smiled softly. “He seems just like you told me he was. Very polite boy.”

            Lydia nearly winces at the comment. “Right.”

            Natalie approaches her daughter now, sadness in her eyes as she places a hand on Lydia’s cheek, brushing over her bright hair. “You’re so grown up.”

            Lydia’s heart swells, but she blinks away the tears that spring to her eyes.

            As Natalie moves to leave the room, she stops in the doorway, turning suddenly like she remembered something. “Oh, you might want to call Stiles and Scott back. They’ve been ringing your mobile for hours.”

            “Did something happen?” Lydia can’t help but think of the worst possible scenario. Someone probably died, more than likely a friend.

            “I didn’t answer, and I didn’t want to wake you,” Natalie confesses sheepishly. “I took it downstairs so the sound wouldn’t wake you,” she pulls it from her pocket and hands it over.

            “You could’ve just put it on vibrate you know,” Lydia couldn’t help but point out as she scrolls her finger through the list of missed calls. 6 from Scott, 16 from Stiles and 2 from Kira. The only person she can stand to talk to right now is Scott, so she presses her thumb over his picture.

            As Natalie closes the door behind her to offer Lydia some privacy, the familiar click of a call being connected draws Lydia’s attention away from the door.

            “Lydia!?” Scott’s voice barks immediately.

            “Scott, is everything okay!?” Her heart leaps.

            “You tell me,” he growls angrily. “Malia and I heard you screaming and we couldn’t find you anywhere. You weren’t answering your phone and we didn’t have Calvin’s number…” he trails off as something more important comes up. “Are you okay?”

            Lydia presses her hands over her face. She was relieved that no one was hurt, but horrified that she’d had everyone in a panic for hours. Scott’s concern was only drudging up the horrible reminder of the endless time she spent in Calvin’s car. “Yes, I’m _fine_ ,” she insists gruffly. It feels weird, Scott worrying. He hasn’t even acknowledged her well-being in so long, it was almost an unfamiliar state of mind. Being worried about. “I’m okay.”

            “Tell her I’m gonna kill her,” she could hear Stiles say somewhere in the background. The sharpness of his voice was a dead giveaway of how angry he was with her for leaving them without a trace.

            “Easy,” Scott tells Stiles, holding the phone away from them like it made a difference. “Lydia? We’re coming over.”

            “No!” She can’t handle any more stress. She just wants to curl up in her bed and fade into nothing. “That’s not necessary. I swear, Scott. I’m okay.”

            There’s shuffling as Stiles snatches the phone away from Scott, leaving no room for argument. “Then why wouldn’t you answer your phone for _four_ hours? Why did you leave the party? You didn’t even tell any of us.”

            “Why is it my responsibility to tell you when I’m leaving a party?” Lydia shot back with just as much attitude. “ _Calvin_ was my date, remember?” She reminds him with a strong surge of bitterness at the fact that it wasn’t Stiles she went with, and even more at the very sound of Calvin’s name after the emotional trauma he just put her through.

            It’s silent for a pause, like Stiles doesn’t know what to say. “You didn’t answer any of our calls! And why the hell did you scream in the first place!?” They were the only points she refused to acknowledge thus far; because they were good questions, and she didn’t have excuses for them yet. She should’ve thought about this, she should’ve realized it was a banshee scream she let loose.

            “I just… sensed the death of someone that was standing near me… Some old guy. He had a heart attack,” Lydia babbles away. “It was nothing else.”

            “So now you get banshee screams over random strangers _? That’s great_ ,” she can hear Stiles’ exasperated sarcasm. “That still doesn’t tell us why you didn’t _answer_ your damn _phone_ , Lydia! Do you know how hard it is to panic and search and take care of an extremely wasted werecoyote at the same time?”

Lydia lifted her eyebrows at Stiles’ rant.

“ _Malia tried to eat a rabbit_!”

“Gross!” Scott shudders in the background. “You definitely didn’t tell me that.”

“Malia got drunk and ate a rabbit?” Lydia squeaked.

“ _Tried_ , people,” Stiles annunciates. “Tried; as in _didn’t_.” Stiles huffs and rubs his hand over the back of his neck, the exhaustion getting to him.

“I fell asleep in Calvin’s car and I just woke up… I’m sorry you guys were worried.”

“You’re with Calvin right now?” Stiles’ eyebrows knit together and he checks the time. They’re still together and it’s nearly 3 AM. He really hoped that wasn’t the case.

“No he brought me up to my room apparently.”

“Apparently?” Stiles’ ears perk up. “As in, you don’t know? Creepy Easley brought an unconscious you to your room where he could take advantage of you?”

Lydia appreciated his attempt at concern, but she didn’t need it. He didn’t have to act like he cared when she knew he didn’t. “You’re overreacting.”

“He didn’t change your clothes, did he?”

“ _No!_ Stiles, stop jumping to conclusions,” The redhead warns.

“Just covering all the bases,” Stiles reassures, trying to soothe the tiger back to sleep before it chomps its jaws on him.  “Can you really be mad at me for wanting you to be safe?” He asks softly.

She freezes, for just a moment believing that he could really mean it. Then she makes a decision. “Stiles, the truth is –”

“Shit!” The boy in question cusses. “Malia is vomiting again,” he passes the phone to Scott without another word, rushing over to his girlfriend who is about to fall out of the jeep. He catches her in time, supporting her against the car as she leans over the side to spit up alcohol onto the grass.

“Nasty,” Scott mumbles. “Stiles is probably gonna have to stick with Malia for a while, but I can come over?”

Lydia feels like she’s been stabbed with a knife, but she marches on. “I told you I’m fine. I’ll talk to you at school tomorrow.” She’s more monotone now, unable to keep up with her usual level of fake enthusiasm. The gravity weighing down her shoulders was far too much tonight.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday…” Scott takes mental note of the fact that its 3 am. “Well, today.”

“Then I’ll see you on Monday!” Lydia snaps, growing weary of this game of ping-pong. She wants to stop thinking and go back to being unconscious.

“Okay…” Scott answers meekly, not having expected her to give him an attitude out of thin air.

 

Lydia is quick to end the conversation after that, hurriedly saying goodbye and waiting until she heard his very uncertain “Bye?” before pressing ‘end call’ and collapsing backwards onto her bed. She really hoped Calvin didn’t contact her tomorrow. Well, today. Unfortunately, she wasn’t quite that lucky.

 

x-x-x

 

            It was after noon when Kira invited her to lunch, just the two of them. Lydia immediately went to say no, but felt inclined to agree to the meeting. Kira had been the nicest to her among all their friends. She was new and didn’t know Lydia very well, there was no doubt about it, but she was genuine and real and there was a real chance at friendship there. But she still wasn’t Allison.

            As Lydia grabbed a pair of heels from under her bed, her hands brushed against that same cardboard box that Chris Argent had given her. Allison’s last message. A chill went through her body as she considered what could be in that box, but logically, she knew it was probably just a few pictures and trinkets. Nevertheless, they’d still make her cry senseless. It was the biggest reason it remained untouched, other than it being the last thing she could hold onto that was Allison. When she opened it… when she knew what was inside… There would be nothing of Allison left to be explored. No future, no words she’d every say again.

            She let the anguish consume her as she did her hair and makeup and even as she entered the diner. Briefly muttering to the hostess that she was meeting up with a friend, she located Kira in the far corner immersed in her new game boy, a present from Scott. It was old and cheap, but she adored it. He told her she was going to love it and she hadn’t believed him, but now she knew how right he was.

            “Playing Mario again, I see,” she teases as she slides in across from her.

            Kira’s dark curled hair frames her face and falls gently in front of her shoulders as she jerks at the unexpected noise. Upon seeing Lydia, she shoves the device into her pocket like it means nothing. “Lydia!” She’s surprised to see her. If she were being honest, she’d admit that she didn’t think the girl would show up. Though Lydia was generally very punctual, she’d admittedly been off lately. “You look awesome.”

            Lydia certainly didn’t think so. She was barely able to look at her own reflection when she did her makeup this morning. She was too humiliated, and the circles under her eyes were only telling of the restless night she had. “I just threw this together.”

            “I wish I could ‘throw myself together’ and look half that good,” she compliments, her eyes bright as she leans in to sip her milkshake.

            Usually, Lydia reveled in compliments. Being fashionable and beautiful was important to her, and she was always worried about her image. But this time, for some reason, one sweet compliment from a nice girl didn’t feel right. In fact, Lydia felt ashamed and embarrassed, like Kira was lying.

            Lydia’s smile becomes something very serious, her eyes intense as they stare into Kira’s. “Do you really think I’m pretty?”

            Kira’s eyes shoot up, disbelieving at the insecurity held in Lydia’s gaze. Lydia was supposed to know she was gorgeous, she was supposed to flaunt it and enjoy her perfect sense of glamour and stylizing. But she was doubting herself, and the Kitsune could see it. “Of course you are.”

            Realizing how strange she appeared, Lydia cleared her throat and clumsily grabbed for a menu to keep herself busy.

            “ _Lydia,_ ” Kira started, firmly placing a hand over Lydia’s menu to flatten it on the table so she could see the other girl’s face. “Are you okay?”

            Lydia is so very thankful when Mary, the friendly 50-something waitress approached, pulling a pen from behind her ear and tossing the cover of her notepad over. “What’ll you have, hun?” She asks the banshee, offering a friendly smile.

            She can’t bear to eat real food, not when her stomach’s been killing her since finding Calvin in the men’s restroom. The night progressively got worse, finding Malia and Stiles, having a panic attack in Calvin’s nearly-crashed car, passing out. Her friends worrying. “I’ll just have some water.”

            “No strawberry smoothie today?” It was surprising that Kira even knew what her usual was.

            “I don’t –” She was interrupted as Kira gasped audibly, clucking her tongue with a shy smile.

            “Look who it _is_ ,” She gestures off somewhere behind Lydia.

The redhead spins around in the booth, peeking her eyes over the top of the seat to see who just entered the diner. It was Calvin, now appearing both better rested and calm, the tired redness from last night no longer rimming his eyelids and drawing his lips downwards, replaced by clear white skin with pink patches along his cheeks. Lydia sinks down in her seat.

“You’re not gonna say hi?”

Lydia blows a breath of air as she grows agitated. She doesn’t want Calvin to see her, but avoiding him was going to raise a lot of questions. As the waitress places her water on the table, she thinks fast. “We’re having girl time. This isn’t about boys.” The lie comes naturally enough.

“ _Oh_ ,” Kira makes a sour face stemmed from guilt. “I didn’t realize we weren’t allowed to bring people.” She shrugs her shoulders uncomfortably. “Scott’s here,” she declares just as he happens to coincidentally be walking through the glass doors of the main room, then through those doors, leading them to the diner. Kira’s voice drops. “And from the looks of it, he brought Stiles.”

Lydia huffs as she realizes this day can’t possibly get worse. She should’ve gone with her original instinct upon waking up and buried her head back under the pillow.

As Scott locates Kira, he approaches briskly, slowing down a few paces when he notices the girl with her. “I thought you were with Malia.”

Kira blinks at her boyfriend. “I never said I was with Malia.”

“You said you were going out with your ‘favorite girl’ and I just assumed…” his voice fades away as he realizes that Lydia could take offense to that. He glances over at her, relief flooding his body at her plain expression. If she was insulted, she was good at hiding it.

And she was. But she wasn’t about to say anything about it.

“Not because Malia is Kira’s favorite!” Scott clarifies, fully aware of the fact that he sounds like he’s bullshitting his way out of getting in trouble. “It’s just that usually when Kira goes to the diner she’s with Malia, and Stiles and I show up to do the double date thing.”

Lydia lowers her head at them in disbelief. She had no idea that they met up at the diner regularly, just the four of them. In fact, no one had ever even mentioned this to her before. She could see that it was meant to be a secret when all of her friends’ faces fell at Scott’s accidental reveal. Lydia’s jaw tightens at the revelation.

“Wow, you guys.” It’s the only thing she can think to say.

Stiles runs a hand through his hair nervously. “We just didn’t want you to feel left out.”

“I didn’t even know you and Malia were _dating_.”

“We’re not,” Stiles says quickly. “Well, maybe.” He isn’t too sure himself.

“Right,” Lydia mocks. “So you’re just _friends_ , then,” she challenges him. “Just four friends hanging out at the diner, purposely not inviting _me_.”

            Stiles desperately looks to Scott for help, “I think I’m saying this wrong.”

            “No you’re saying it perfect, thanks,” Lydia spat, eyes frozen on the table. She wasn’t even going to look at him. Feeling Kira’s concerned eyes on her, she fights the urge to meet her gaze.

            The awkward silence that followed only lasted long enough for Calvin to finally approach them. As far as Lydia could tell, he was oblivious to the scene he was walking into, or at least playing it that way. She couldn’t be too sure now.

            “I knew I saw you walk in, Scott,” he greets, nodding at the group. “Mind if I join you guys? I’ve got a hankering for something nice and juicy.” Discreetly, he winks at Lydia from where he stands. The banshee sinks further into her seat, her butt making the polyester squeak.

            “Uh, no… not at all.” Scott isn’t too comfortable with the intrusion, especially when they haven’t gotten a chance to explain to Lydia the real reason she wasn’t invited to their weekly meal at the diner.

            “Why is everyone standing?” Calvin chortles as he scoots in beside Lydia without leaving her much room to argue. As he presses his body against her to indicate her movement, she gives in and slides over until she’s trapped in the corner.

Stiles sits across from Lydia to allow Kira and Scott to face each other. Kira sits on Calvin’s other side, knowing full well that Scott would be falling onto the floor from the lack of space if he were to be there instead. He shoots her a thankful grin and hands her his menu when he sees she’s missing one. In turn, Kira blushes.

            Calvin’s eyes dart between the two, an amused smile across his mouth. “You two are too much.”

            “See?” Stiles waves his hand at Scott and Kira in an exaggerated fashion. “Calvin barely knows you and he’s sick of it. Do the rest of us a favor,” he says it jokingly, but secretly means it. Kira and Scott were very into the PDA and it was almost sickening how sweet they were with each other.

            Scott knows Stiles means it, but he also knows the reason he feels that way is because he simply doesn’t understand what it’s like to be with someone who you love, someone who loves you back. Malia was his first real relationship, and it was the perfect first relationship to have. He was learning a lot about women and he really cared for the werecoyote, but it was just a high school relationship. It didn’t mean anything real, not like Scott and Kira.

            “Hey, don’t pin this all on us!” Kira points a finger at Stiles. “How about that smooch Lydia landed on Calvin in the middle of the lunch room the other day?”

            Lydia flushes, becoming anxious as everyone’s eyes are suddenly on her. She wanted to be noticed, but not like this. “No, that wasn’t… isn’t like you guys at all!” She’s extremely flustered and all of them can tell. “We’re not -” Calvin’s fingernails dig into her upper thigh as a warning and she lets out a small squeak from the painful sensation.

            Stiles lowers his head at her questioningly. “Lydia?”

            Her eyes flicker closed for a brief second, but she pushes back any emotion. “I was going to say that we aren’t gross about it,” she finished quietly. Lydia feels Calvin’s grip loosen, but his hand remains on her leg, the feeling burning through the thin fabric of her skirt while the finger pad of his thumb runs over the exposed skin at the hem.

            Kira doesn’t miss her use of the present tense, but decides not to push it in front of everyone else. She’ll text her about it later. “Are you gonna order anything?” She turns to Scott.

            “Lydia,” Stiles whispers, quickly catching her attention. She glances up at him, still uncomfortably distracted by Calvin’s exploring hand. “Are you okay?” She just blinks at him with wide eyes, unable to form coherent thoughts at the moment. “You look like you’re in pain.”

            “Everything okay?” Calvin chimes in, playing clueless as he leans his chin into his free hand.

            Stiles shoots Calvin a glare for intruding. It was unnecessary for him to reiterate the exact thing he just asked.

            Lydia’s heart clenches painfully when she meets Calvin’s expectant eyes. “Yeah, I just didn’t get much sleep last night.”

            Stiles’ arms flex as he leans his elbows onto the table, the sudden movement making Lydia’s cup of water shake gently. “I thought you fell asleep in Calvin’s car. You were passed out for hours; that’s why you didn’t answer your phone.” His eyes narrow at her. “Remember?”

            Calvin’s eyes burn into the side of her head, waiting for her next excuse.

“I-I meant because I woke up at 3 AM and spent the next ten minutes on the phone with you panicking losers!” It was a good save, but Lydia felt her body burning up as she broke into a nervous sweat.

“We wouldn’t have been panicking if you hadn’t screamed,” Stiles says under his breath, knowing full well that the banshee still heard him.

Lydia gasps when Calvin’s fingers slide under her skirt brush against the edge of her panties, and she purposefully stands, bumping her legs against the table. “I need to go the bathroom,” she breathes, shoving past Calvin and nearly knocking Kira over in her haste to get out of there.

“What was that about?” Scott watches Lydia speed walk out of their view.

“Maybe she still has her period,” Kira suggests lowly, eyes lighting up as she decides what she wants for lunch.

“Why do we keep asking questions?” Stiles sighs, faking a shiver for dramatic effect.

They spend the next few minutes ordering their food, and when the waitress leaves it’s relatively quiet again. It feels a little awkward having Calvin be there without Lydia. None of them knew him very well.

Scott drums his finger along the edge of the table as he considers something. “I was gonna wait for Lydia to get back, but I might as well bring it up now.” He grins at Stiles. “Y0u know how the islander trip is next weekend?”

“What’s that?” Calvin interrupts.

“Oh, uh…” Scott was hoping Lydia’s _friend_ wouldn’t intervene, because it was probably going to result in him inviting himself. Or Lydia inviting him. Either way, he wanted this trip to be about their pack. “Every year the environmental club gets the nature society to host a trip for our school. It’s an outdoors thing, camping and the wilderness and all that. It’s supposed to be educational; we’re getting challenges and stuff like that.” He glances at Stiles as he explains to Calvin, “We’ve never done it before, but I made everyone sign up this time. Lydia was the hardest to convince.”

“While Malia can’t wait,” Stiles laughs.

“That sounds awesome.”

“Yeah,” Stiles frowns. He wasn’t going to come, right? It was way too late to sign a permission slip and pay the fee, anyway. It had to be.

“What were you saying, Scott?” Kira reminds, setting the discussion back on track.

Scott nods gratefully. “Kira and I did a little research and we found this grove near the campsite. There’s this huge lake there and I thought it would be fun if we snuck away from the class and did our own thing for a while.”

A grin forms across Stiles’ face. “You dirty boy, Scott! Please tell me there will be alcohol involved in this scenario.”

“Heaps of it,” Kira informs him enthusiastically. “Since I’ve already proven that I can handle my liquor, I challenge you, Scott McCall, to a drink-off at the lake next weekend.”

“You are so _on_ ,” Scott laughs, squeezing the girls hand from across the table.

Lydia returns a moment later, her makeup reapplied and her face refreshed. She motions to move in beside Kira so that she isn’t forced beside Calvin again, but unfortunately Kira doesn’t get the message.

“Oh, it’s okay! I’ll move.” Kira hops off the seat like she’s doing Lydia a favor, allowing her to sit beside her... Whatever he was.

“Thanks,” Lydia mumbles, scooting into the booth.

“Scott was just telling us about the _islander_ trip,” Calvin annunciates, wrapping his arm around her and squeezing her shoulder. His eyes are intense where they focus on her face. “You didn’t tell me about that.”

“It must’ve slipped my mind,” Lydia averts his gaze. She really did forget about the trip, but even if she had remembered she certainly wouldn’t have invited him. “Do-do you wanna come?” She knew his answer even before the large smile broke out across his face.

“That’s a great idea!” He insists, pressing his lips to her cheek in a chaste kiss.

Stiles sucks his cheeks into his mouth and says nothing.

“It might be too late, though,” Lydia tells him gently. “We were supposed to have our slips submitted over two weeks ago, right?”

He frowns. “Well I wasn’t here two weeks ago. They’ll make an exception for my case, I’m sure.” Calvin runs a finger through a curl in her hair. “Don’t worry your pretty red head about it.”

“Wow, you guys really are as bad as Scott and Kira,” Stiles declares plainly.

Calvin shoots him a stare. “If _your_ girlfriend doesn’t want to show you affection in public, maybe _you’re_ the one with the problem.”

Lydia couldn’t count the amount of awkward moments she ran into today on one hand.

 

x-x-x

 

            The weekend passes quickly enough. Lydia uses her time wisely, avoiding enough human contact to finish her homework for the rest of the month. Whenever she’d receive a call or text, she was abrupt about answering. When Scott called on Saturday to apologize for leaving her out of their weekend lunches, she brushed it off and hung up on him before he had a chance to finish the rest of his sentence.

            The simple fact that Calvin hadn’t tried to get in touch with her had her on edge. He’d been speaking to her every day, but he was quiet for the whole weekend. It made her think that maybe he’d gotten sick of her, maybe he decided to leave her alone. As much as that thought comforted her, Lydia didn’t think it could be that easy. She missed the way he was when they first met, she wanted _that_ friend back. Now she was alone again.

            It was Sunday night, and she was lying on her stomach reading one of her favorite science magazines. Her mother was meeting her lawyer out for a drink because they did that sometimes, but Lydia didn’t believe it was just about catching up. They were probably talking about her father and what they were going to do. It was thoughtful of Natalie to leave her daughter out of the issue, but Lydia’s stomach felt sick when she considered the stress her mother was under.

            The distant chirping of crickets was nearly putting her to sleep when Lydia heard the faint sound of someone knocking on the front door. She sighs and shuts the book, shoving it under the bed beside _that_ box and jogs down the stairs.

            Lydia swings the door open without a second thought, pieces of red hair wrapping back at the sudden burst of wind. It is dark aside from the street-lights, and the lone fixture illuminating her porch. There’s no one there, and Lydia feels a chill travel up her arms. In her supernatural experience, nothing good was about to happen. Her phone was upstairs.

            She slams the door shut, twisting the lock and running for the stairs to her bedroom like her life depended on it. All the while she told herself that it could be nothing, that a couple of kids were ding-dong ditching her without the actual ding-dong. Maybe someone was visiting her neighbors and approached the wrong house, realized they’re mistake and left. She shakes her head at herself, what were the chances of that? The most logical explanation was that it was Calvin, but she didn’t want to think he could be the kind of person to do that.

            When she finally reaches for her phone, she realizes how paranoid she would appear. If she were to call Scott and tell him she was frightened because someone _knocked_ on her door, she’d sound completely insane. It wasn’t like she could tell him about Calvin. Instead, she decided to hold it tightly in her hand in case something really did happen.

            Which is why she jumped a foot in the air when her phone start ringing, scaring the complete hell out of the girl. Despite it being Stiles, she’s fast answering because she doesn’t want to be standing here alone anymore.

            “Hey,” she says breathlessly. “What’s up?”

            “I’m at your house,” There’s some kind of interference breaking his voice up, a shuffling static underneath the tone. The phone crackles as it breaks up again, “…-et me in.”

            “What? Why?” Lydia’s eyes narrow. He must’ve been trying to scare her.

            “Just let me in!” He hangs up, the phone disconnecting before she got her answers.

            With a heavy grown, Lydia straightens her nightgown and returns to the front door. She’s struck by déjà vu when she opens the door to find it mysteriously clear of any human presence.

Lydia growls as she returns Stiles’ call.

“Y’ello?” He answers cheerily, the annoying sound of him chewing on something hard flitting through the receiver and into Lydia’s ear.

“ _Uhhhh_ , where the hell _are_ you?” She snaps, frustration hitting her hard. If he was going to play games with her all night she was just going to lock herself in her room until morning and kick him in the balls at school.

Stiles stops mid-chew, his food-filled mouth coming muffled, “I’m home, why?”

Lydia stands in the open doorway of her home gritting her teeth together. She’s two seconds from slamming the door and cussing at him, “You said you were outside my house. I’m literally standing in my front doorway and you’re not here.”

“When did I say that?” He’s appalled at the suggestion, because he knows for a fact that he hasn’t spoken to Lydia since early on yesterday.

“You called me two seconds ago and told me to let you in,” Lydia stomps her foot. “Damn it Stiles, _stop_ messing with me! I’m really not in the mood.”

Stiles swallows a large chunk of food down, wincing at the scratching pain it caused. “Lydia, I swear to god, I didn’t call you.”

Lydia’s eyes flicker around her room nervously. No, that wasn’t right. She _knows_ he called her. It said it on her caller ID and she heard his voice. He was still playing with her. Why was everyone playing with her? “I…” She has to get away from this phone call, she feels like she can’t breathe.

Stiles stands straighter at his kitchen counter, knocking over his quart of lo mein when he places his chopsticks back in the bag to give the girl his full attention. “What’s going on?” Lydia isn’t making any sense, so he assumes she just woke up from a bad dream and is still a little disoriented. That or she had some kind of banshee prediction that she couldn’t decipher.

Lydia wants to answer, to tell him she has to go, but she can’t speak. Her breathing is rapid, her chest constricting against her lungs tightly. She’s hyperventilating because she thinks she’s losing her mind. She drops her phone to the carpet before falling to her knees, gasping for air.

“Lydia!? What’s going on?” Stiles’ panicked question comes through the speaker, but Lydia can’t physically respond.

She rasps heavily, as if that can serve as a response.

            “I can hear you,” he tells her, biting down on the nail of his index finger. Lydia coughs for oxygen on the other end. He smacks his hand on the counter. “That’s it, I’m coming over.”

            “No,” she croaks out. “No.”

            “We’re not arguing about this.” He’s already snatching his keys from the hook. “I’ll be there in five minutes, stay on the line with me.” Stiles switches the phone to his left ear, leaning it against his shoulder with his cheek so he can drive.

            “Don’t come over!” Lydia bellowed, finally able to climb back to her feet.

            “You’re wasting precious breath, Lydia,” he criticized sarcastically. She wasn’t going to change his mind.

            He hears her mumble, “go to hell,” before hanging up on him.

            “Ly-Lydia?” He glances down at the screen of his phone to find the call had ended. “Fuck.” Tossing the offending object into the passenger seat, he presses his foot on the gas pedal.

 

The banshee waited in her room for a few more minutes. Despite protesting when Stiles suggested he come over, she was really glad he didn’t give in. She didn’t want to be alone right now. Even the silence from waiting was too much to bear. The heated insulation of her bedroom was making her too warm, and she wasn’t about to open the door, so she opened her window a few measly inches instead.

            She was so sure the caller ID said Stiles, but what if she was wrong? What if she was imagining everything; slowly losing her mind? The days following Allison’s death, Lydia truly felt like she was going to crumble into herself. That feeling never truly faded but grew easier to bear, repressed into the back of her mind until every now and then when her bottled up emotions overflew and spilled into other aspects of her life, her friendships and her family.

            A blood curdling scream resonated from the woods behind her house, spreading through the cracks of her window and sending a chill through Lydia’s entire body. It was when this person started crying “Lydia!” that she recognized the voice. It was Stiles. He’d gotten in trouble on the way to her house.

            “Stiles,” Lydia mutters, making a run for the door. She stops abruptly as her hands close around the knob. What if she was hearing things again? Like their first phone call? Her heart nearly stopped when she considered the possibility that the second phone call had been unreal as well. Was he even coming?

            Nevertheless, Lydia braved through it, pulling on her sneakers and bolting through her backdoor, too hurried to bother closing it behind her. It didn’t matter if this was all in her head because there was a very real chance that Stiles was actually in pain right now. It had only taken her a split second to weigh the odds and then her mind was made up. Stiles had to be okay. _Fuck_ her stupid fucked up head and the voices whispering inside of it.

            “Stiles!” She shouted as she reached the hollow of trees, scoping the area carefully before muddling through it and forcing herself inside the dark maze. “STILES!” She called again, anxiously spinning around rapidly, eyes dilated as they adjust to the shadowed black of night. “Please answer me,” she whispers, leaves crunching under her shoes as she runs further in the nest, shrouded by overhanging branches.

            She’d nearly forgotten that she had her phone, sniffling in a frightened manner as she rang Stiles’ number. If he picked up and he was okay, she was hallucinating all of this. If he didn’t answer, this was real and he was in trouble. As sane as she’d like to be, she’d rather, in this moment, be a complete psychopath if it meant Stiles would be alive.

            “I’m at your house,” he tells her immediately, but the phone crackles like the connection is bad. It makes sense, considering the fact that she’s in the middle of the woods right now. The trees were tall and intimidating, likely blocking most of the signal. “…-et me in,” the phone fizzes.

            Lydia’s heart stalls in her chest, her eyes are huge and terrified, her hands shaky as they lower the phone without being consciously aware of it. It was happening again. He was saying the same thing as before. Was this even real?

            “Lydia?” He prompts from the other end, not hearing her voice despite the fact that she called him.

            She can’t take it anymore and a sob comes burbling to the surface, “ _Where are you_?” Lydia cries in hysterics, a hand going up to chew on the edge of her palm nervously.

            Stiles’ heart skips a beat. “I’m here, where are _you_?”

            “I’m in the woods.”

            His eyes stop on the woods behind her house, slamming his car door shut. “Why?”

            “I heard…” she swallows hard, her mouth dry and warm. Lydia takes a few steps in the direction of her house, but then stops. She isn’t sure if she’s facing the right way. “Just come get me, _please_. I think I’m lost.”

            “It’s okay,” Stiles breathes, although he can feel his chest burning. “Lydia, I’ll find y-…” Static cuts through the line and the call drops.

            “Stiles!?” Lydia angrily presses her nails along the buttons on her phone to get the call back. “Come on, give me signal.” She feels something brush past her arm and whips around, a squeak of air leaving her lips. “Who’s there?” she demands, a tremor shaking her body as the wind grows colder. She’s ready to run, she won’t be sure which way she’s running but she’s ready to do it. If she hears another suspicious noise, if something invisible touches her… she’s going for it.

            “LYDIA!” Stiles screams for her, much like what she’d heard when she heard him being attacked in the woods.

            “I’m here!” She answers, uncertain if he is able to hear her. Her voice is hoarse like she’s been screaming for hours, quiet because of the emotion she’s feeling, a heavy weight like someone standing on your chest.

            “LYDIA! Where are you!?” Stiles is still yelling. After the call disconnected a white mist of panic enveloped him whole and he couldn’t stop panting. He was close to calling Scott because if she didn’t answer him soon then he wouldn’t be able to take it anymore. Scott would know what to do, but it would take him some time to get to Lydia’s place, and time was exactly what Stiles didn’t want to waste.

            With everything inside of Lydia, she inhales deeply and then lets out a banshee scream. Not loud enough for the whole town of werewolves to hear, but enough to vibrate through the woods and sway the tops of trees.

            Stiles jumps and whirls around to the direction the cry came from. He vaults over an overturned tree trunk and sprints toward the girl, his eyes widening as he sees a flash of red hair moving toward him in the distance. “Lydia!”

            When she sees him, she runs toward him on instinct. When his arms wrap around her in a tight hug, she lets it happen without protest. His body is large and protective like no other time they’d been close, especially considering her lack of heels. As he squeezes her against him, Lydia’s heart thumps frantically, but she doesn’t care if he can feel it beating unevenly against him. She’s just so glad he’s here.

            They stand like that for the shortest 60 seconds of Stiles Stilinski’s life. When they finally do part, its only enough to give their bodies some breathing room, their arms still wound each other in a comforting embrace. “You’re freezing,” Stiles muses hoarsely, running his large hands over her shoulders to warm her up. “Let’s get inside.”

            She doesn’t argue as one of his arms loosely remains around her arms as he guides her to the correct path back to her house. His cold breath brushes against the back of her neck, sending a haywire cord of frozen energy through her spine and dipping somewhere that made her feel like she was tingling inside. Lydia spent the rest of the walk back admiring his purposeful expression, unconsciously biting on his lower lip as he works his way through the throng of trees.

 

When they’re sitting in her room, Stiles finally asks, “What the hell happened tonight, Lyds?”

Lydia runs her fingers along her lips thoughtfully and then shrugs like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I don’t know.”

“You said I called you and said I was at your house,” he retells as his thoughts go through the events. “Then you were lost in the woods.” He motions with his hands like he’s trying to figure out what to say. “Can you – just start from the beginning?”

Lydia ponders this, moving to lean against her bottom against the edge of her desk as her lips twist upwards. “Hmm. Okay.” she slaps her hands on the creamy skin of her thighs. “Someone knocked on my door but when I answered there was no one there. Then _you_ ,” she points at him. “ – call me and say you’re outside my house, and to let you in.”

“I definitely didn’t do that,” Stiles says with a shake of his head. “I was eating Chinese food when you called me, asking me where I was. That’s the first time I spoke to you today.”

“Well then I don’t know what to tell you Stiles!” She stands up now and begins to pace. “Maybe…” her eyes flicker over to where he sits on the corner of her bed, watching her in that concerned way he did. “Maybe I’m really losing it, here.”

Stiles almost smiles, “You think you’re crazy?” He asks in disbelief.

“It isn’t funny,” she clamors with a snarky edge.  
            “I don’t think it’s funny,” he gets off the bed and approaches her cautiously, “but it _is_ ridiculous.”

“What do you mean by that?” she presses shyly.

“There’s no way you could be crazy. You’re way too smart,” he thinks it over. “You’re definitely strange, but in no way crazy.”

“You like that I’m weird?”

“Sure,” Stiles shrugs. “That’s part of what makes you, _you._ ” To make the moment just a bit less intimate, he jokes, “Besides, if you were crazy I’d be the first to take you to Eichen House.”

Lydia rolls her eyes and comments, “No you wouldn’t.”

Stiles’ lips curl as he stares at her intensely. “No,” he agrees honestly. “I wouldn’t.”

The quiet, certain way he said it was making something stir deep within Lydia’s stomach, a hunger. She had an ache for something that couldn’t be filled.

“So why were you in the woods?” Stiles changed the subject slyly.

“I heard you scream my name,” disclosed the banshee, worry rimming her eyebrows. “You were in trouble so I ran after you.”

“Do you think it was a prediction…?” He asks slowly, rubbing his thumb over his wrist.

“God, I have no idea what it was.” Lydia turns her back on him, ashamed that her powers were of no real hope for them. Something Cora once said repeated in her mind, “ _All you really do is find the bodies.”_

“I see,” Stiles murmured so slightly that she almost didn’t hear. “Are you going to tell Scott?”

Lydia’s head shoots up. “It was _your_ voice.” the air is still. “Even if I don’t understand what happened tonight or why, I can’t take any risks,” her heart pumps rapidly as she dares to finish what she started. “Not with you.”

Stiles’ eyes dart to the floor like he can’t look at her anymore. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” He pretends not to see the way her heart is on her sleeve right now, forcing himself not to hear the meaning behind her words.

“Lydia, I just wanted to let you now I’m ba-…” Natalie Martin’s voice ends abruptly as she opens the door to her only daughter’s bedroom. Her eyes stop on Stiles and she forces a smile. “Stiles, I didn’t know you were coming over tonight.” She turns accusing eyes to Lydia for not telling her.

“It was an unexpected visit,” Lydia informs her.

“Sorry about that,” Stiles claps his hands together. “I just stopped by to prep our chemistry project a little.”

“Chemistry project,” Natalie repeats, intrigued. “Can I see what you have so far?”

Lydia exchanges a glance with Stiles. “It’s a work in progress…”

“I just wanna _see_ ,” Natalie presses with a broad smile. “Can’t a doting mother be proud?” She teases wholeheartedly.

“Yeah, I’ll let you know if I find one,” Lydia jokes back, earning a mock-offended look from her mother. She laughs as she pulls out her science notebook, deciding to pull up some random assignment and label it a project.

“What class is this for?” Natalie leans in to watch as Lydia flips through the pages.

“Chemistry,” Stiles answers for her, hanging behind the two females.

“Here,” Lydia points to a random page.

Natalie can’t understand what she’s looking at in the slightest, but she wants to be there for her daughter, more than she has these past… years. “Wow, that’s incredible.” She turns bright eyes to Stiles. “You two did awesome.”

“Thanks, we have amazing chemistry,” Stiles nods proudly. He only realizes what he’s done when he sees Lydia’s jaw drop. “ – At the class,” he adds lamely, his excuse lacking any sense.

“I’ll bet.” Natalie raises her eyebrows at her daughter, giving her a stare that surely said “we’ll talk about this later”. She disappears down the hall.

“You idiot,” is all Lydia can think to say.

“I should really be going,” Stiles fumbles, flustered as he looks around her room. “Did I bring my stuff?’

Lydia gapes at his stupidity. “No…”

“Right, because we weren’t hanging out,” Stiles declares pointedly. “Woods.”

“You’re making no sense, just get out,” Lydia grabs her pen, loosely pointing toward the door before glancing down at her notes like she’s doing homework. It’s mostly just to hide the smile on her face.

“Bye,” he relents, his shoulders drooping at the pathetic ball of awkward that he was.

When the door finally shuts behind him, Lydia bursts into a fit of giggles, momentarily forgetting the horror show that was her night.


	6. Out of This World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: First off, I want to say I’m sorry for taking so long with this chapter. I’ve been really busy taking the New York equivalency test since I never graduated high school and I’ve been working a lot of hours so my schedules been hectic. I’ll try to make sure I’m quicker with the next few updates because I’m visiting my sister soon so they might get a bit more delayed at some point next month. Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews, they are my true inspiration.

**Out of This World**

_“When we die_

_We go into the arms of those who remember us_

_We are whole now_

_Out of our heads_

_Out of our minds_

_Out of this world_

_Out of this time.”_

_\- Bush_

Five

  


**_Just over a month ago…_ **

 

            “God I don’t know what to wear,” Lydia sighed tearfully, frustrated as she ruffles through her closet and sliding the hangers along the bar as she goes through her many options. She stands only in her bra and underwear, somehow still sweating profusely in her state of undress. “I laid out so many dresses this morning; I don’t know why none of them are good enough…” She turns around, her uncertain gaze meeting Kira’s as she chews on the tips of her fingers nervously.

            Sympathy is written across Kira’s face, her lip twitching at the need to say something comforting. “Your mascara is running,” she notes instead, immediately hating herself.

            Lydia makes a beeline to the mirror. When she sees her reflection she snatches several tissues from her desk and begins roughly rubbing profusely at the blackened bags under her eyes. “I used the wrong one,” the redhead sniffs. She stares at herself with no recognition in her eyes. “I thought it was waterproof,” she adds quietly.

            “Lydia,” Kira says softly, unfolding her legs from her position on the bed and approaching her grieving friend.

            Lydia wraps her arms around herself protectively, eyes flickering away from the other girl. She knew she was trying to help, that she was lost and unsure of how to help. Lydia just wanted Scott to get here, because he understood. He was in pain just like her, was just as close with Allison. Poor Stiles was still moving in a fog, guilt plaguing him for his part in her death, which wasn’t even his fault to begin with.

            “It doesn’t have to be anything special,” Kira tells her.

            When Lydia watches the Kitsune’s eyes widen in regret, she doesn’t get angry with her poor choice of words. She was only trying to say that her clothing wouldn’t change the course of the day, her outfit wasn’t important. Allison was. Today was the day they sent her off, and it had to be done wholeheartedly.

            “I didn’t mean –”

            “It’s okay Kira,” Lydia interrupts, her voice low and raspy. “You’re right.” She takes this moment to observe Kira, finally taking in her attire. It was very funeral-appropriate, a black sleeved dress that accented her shiny dark hair nicely. She was _so_ pretty, why hadn’t Lydia noticed that before?

            Lydia sniffles, the contents of her closet blurring along with her vision. Everything looked the same.

            Kira makes a decision, approaching Lydia’s closet with determination in the way she moved her body, her arms tugging at the hangers of dresses. “You’ve got a closet full of stuff, there has to be something here worth wearing.”

            “It just…” Lydia’s nails dig into her sides as she hugs herself tighter. “It has to feel right.”

            “What about this one?” Kira pulls out a smooth caramel dress, lightly painted with floral vines twisting across the bodice, but not overwhelmingly so. It was pretty and simple.

            Lydia’s face contorted into something pained and hurt, her lower lip trembling and nose growing a faint shade of pink as she hiccupped. A hand moved up to cover her mouth slightly. “Allison lent that to me,” she gasps. “I was going to return it to her the week before she…” she stops short. “But I forgot.” Her eyes meet Kira’s. “Everything happened so suddenly, the nogitsune… Stiles getting sick.”

            “Hey, it’s okay.” Kira wants to comfort her in a better way, she wants to hug her in the way that friends do when the other is in pain. But they don’t know each other like that. “We don’t have to talk about all that right now.” She knows she isn’t helping.

            As Lydia wails in an almost inhuman way, her body quaking with each sob, Kira doesn’t care about how awkward it might be. She doesn’t care that they only started talking because of Scott, that Lydia’s standing there half-naked. Her arms envelop the banshee and she pulls her tightly to her, her hands awkwardly shuffling along Lydia’s shoulders until she found a suitable position.

            They stand like that for a while, but then Kira hears the familiar sound of a car pulling up in the driveway. She pulls the window’s curtain aside. It’s surprisingly foggy outside, a misty rain pattering onto the pavement but not yet a drizzle. The jeep’s windshield wipers pause and the headlights turn off as Stiles turns the key in its ignition and it goes dead.

            “The boys are here,” she informs Lydia in almost a whisper. “I’ll let them in,” her eyebrows raise ever so slightly as she delicately states, “You should probably put something on.”

 

As she pulls Allison’s dress over her head, Lydia can hear the far away voices of Scott and Stiles as Kira lets them in, the door thudding somewhere in the distance. She thinks she can hear someone crying, but only a moment later realizes the sniffles are her own. There are footsteps creaking on the wooden panels in the hall now, and her door squeaks as it slowly opens.

            She turns around, but not before letting out a deep, calming breath. The tears linger in her eyes and the mascara is still smeared at just the corners of her eyes, but it doesn’t matter.

            Stiles is standing there on his lonesome, she’d be blushing about how amazing he looked in formalwear if it weren’t for the reasoning behind it. She can faintly hear Scott pouring a few cups of water in the kitchen, talking in hushed tones with Kira.

            “Hey,” she mumbles with the same cut up voice as before, a result of her hours spent crying over Allison, some of those hours spent mourning Aiden as well. She wasn’t even going to get to say goodbye to him. Ethan had all but disappeared off the face of the planet and the twins were never exactly eager about being in the public eye anyway. If Ethan was holding a funeral for his brother, it was undoubtedly something private and personal.

            “Hi,” Stiles responds, his vocals dry and unused. He shifts his legs uncomfortably, the melancholy mood of today settling on him from the moment he opened his eyes this morning. After a long night of insomnia, he fell asleep at 4:30 just to wake up an hour later in a cold sweat. Eventually, he gave up on his tossing and turning and began his day. He was dressed and ready to go before his alarm even went off. The harsh tightness of the atmosphere is palpable… but still quiet like Allison’s heart.

            “You look handsome.” She rubs her hand over the sleeve of Allison’s dress. It was painful to see herself wearing it, but it made her feel close to her late friend.

            He appears crestfallen, unshed tears sitting in his burning eyes. “You too,” he replies automatically.

            Lydia snorts, and somehow a beacon of light appears for her at the way his eyes brighten at the small smile that finds its way onto her lips. She almost thought it was lost. Thankfully, that tiny moment was enough to break the tension, and Stiles was stepping forward to wrap his arms around her in seconds. He could tell that it was what she needed, and it almost made her want to cry harder. A sharp pang sliced inside of her heart when she realized that a lot of people would be hugging each other today. Her thoughts are distracted by the whimpering next to her ear where Stiles’ chin leaned down to rest on her shoulder.

            She pulls back just enough to get a look at his face, and when she sees the tears rolling down his cheeks she wants to kiss him, to tell him that everything was going to be alright. But at the same time, she wanted to make him see that none of this was his fault.

            Stiles is aware that his face is pink, he’s aware of his wet eyes and the small sounds leaving his lips. Nearly embarrassed, he blinks his eyes to look toward the corner of the room, where he can’t see her sympathy, her desperation to help him even though he knew she couldn’t. This was something he had to face alone. When he feels her hands cup his face, her thumbs rubbing over his tears, his eyes return to her. Stiles swallows hard at the sight of his pain reflected in her emerald orbs.

            Their exchange is silent but powerful, and they’re both crying as they stare at each other.

Stiles’ eyes flutter closed as Lydia continues to stroke his face softly.

            They hear Kira and Scott’s voices and back away from each other in unison, returning to their closed off statures as before.

            When Scott appears in the doorway, his eyes immediately land on Lydia. His eyes fill with tears again at the sight of her, Allison’s closest friend and confidant, someone he grew to love as much as she did. His fingers tighten around the glass of water in his hand, slipping over the condensation. It’s so quiet that the anxious thud of her heart is vibrating even louder in his ears. He approaches her slowly, extending his hand toward her.

            “I got you a glass of water,” he rasps.

            Lydia begins weeping again, launching herself forward to wind her arms around Scott’s midsection. She presses her face to his chest, uncaring of how pathetic she may have appeared, assuming she was being judged as she always is.

            The water sloshes and about half of the drink lands on the carpet, but Scott knows it doesn’t matter and places the cup on the desk beside them so he can return the tearful hug.

            Kira smiles sadly as she watches them, giving Stiles his own privacy as he attempts to discretely rub the moisture away from his eyes. If he doesn’t want her to know, then she can respect that and play along.

            When they finally pull apart, their hands still loosely connected, Scott takes in Lydia’s appearance. “Isn’t this…”

            “Yeah,” she whispers, gesturing to the dress. “I didn’t know what to wear.” Maybe it was a bad idea to take Kira’s advice; maybe Scott didn’t want her wearing it. Immediately, a shot of humiliation turns Lydia’s stomach. “I can take it off.”

            “No!” Scott insists, his gaze on her darkening. “ _Someone_ should wear it.”

Lydia shudders at the implication.

            It’s quiet for a long time before Kira breaks and says something. “Are we ready to go?”

Lydia notices that her voice is loud in the emptiness of the room. It’s so bare here.

“Chris mentioned that he thought it would be best if we were a little early. So we could get alone time with…” Scott swallows, “ _her_.”

Lydia’s eyes cast downward. She’d been dreading this day. It was worse than the burial was going to be. Today was theWake _;_ the day of viewing, where everyone got to pay their respects. She wasn’t prepared to be right there next to Allison’s body, her face caked on with spray on makeup, a sad attempt at making her appear more solid. But Allison wasn’t in there anymore…

Stiles licks his dry lips, shaking his head and running a rough hand over his face and through his hair before commenting, “God...” The gravity of the situation begins to settle over his body. It’s only a few short... minutes before they’re going to see Allison’s body. He asked Scott if they should skip it and he was genuinely hoping he’d say yes. But they had to do this. They had to say goodbye, and they had to be there for Allison’s father. He just wasn’t sure how.

Lydia wiggles her toes and meekly tells them, “I have to find shoes.”

“Maybe we should go start the car, it’s kind of cold out,” Kira suggests, gesturing to the window. Then she takes note of her friends’ stricken faces, “Or we can wait,” she adds quietly.

“No, it’s okay,” Lydia rolls her eyes. “I can be alone for two minutes; I just need to find some shoes.”

“ _We’ll wait_ ,” Stiles presses before anyone can agree or object. He and Scott nod at each other in silent agreement. Today, they were all staying together for as long as they could.

 

It wasn’t long before Lydia found herself standing only yards away from Allison’s casket, situated in a private spot above a few blocky carpeted steps. Lydia was in the aisle and she could see it, the white creamy edges and the brown wooden rim along the sides and the opening. She couldn’t see Allison, but her heart was pounding. She was _in_ there.

            As her breath grew quicker, she grew more determined to get closer. Lydia lifted her foot to take another small step when someone came up beside her, freezing the motion.

            “Are you okay?” It was Stiles. He sounded shaky and scared, and Lydia knew that he was in fact not okay, not in the slightest.

            “I don’t know if I can do this,” Lydia confessed under her breath, feeling her arms and legs shiver frantically. The room was cold, but it wasn’t the reason. How can she feel so freezing and be covered in sweat at the same time?

            “It’s still her.” Stiles tries to sound convincing.

            Lydia shakes her head quickly. “No, it isn’t.” her lips press together and she draws in a breath before speaking again. “She’s already been embalmed.” her eyes cloud over as the facts come to her, and yet again, being smart is nothing but a curse for Lydia. Knowledge wasn’t power, it was pain. “She already had all of her blood removed and replaced with a solution meant to preserve her body.”

            “Stop,” Stiles begs her quietly.

Lydia doesn’t hear, and almost sounds robotic as she continues. “formaldehyde… methanol, ethanol…” she blinks. “There are others too.” She breathes slow as she speaks. “The protein in her body was already converted from liquid and made into a gel state… it’s to prevent bacteria.” Her eyes trail over the entirety of the casket. “It’s strange. Why should you have to worry about bacteria after you’re already dead? Who cares how long it takes for you to decompose?” Lydia glances in Stiles’ direction without actually looking at him, something dark and disturbing curling inside of her and leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. “When I die, make sure they cremate me and throw me in a landfill. It means nothing.” Lydia gasps as a tear runs down her face, her eyes burning as she stares at Allison’s eternal bed. “This means nothing.”

Lydia finally sees Stiles, and notices how upset he is. He’s barely holding back sobs at this point; his face is runny and emotional. “Stiles?” She’s jolted with shock. “What is it?”

“How can you say that?” He breathes harshly. “This isn’t nothing. This is… this is us respecting her life… this is our goodbye.”

“We didn’t get a goodbye, Stiles!” Lydia snaps. “She was stabbed with something sharp, and then it was over. There was no goodbye.”

“It’s the closest we’re going to get.”

“Don’t act like you want to be here. You asked Scott if we could skip it and just go to the burial, I was there.”

Stiles closes his eyes tightly. “I have to do this. I have to say goodbye.” When he opens his eyes, he sees Scott moving up the platform to Allison’s coffin by himself. “We both do.”

Lydia’s bottom lip quivers before she bites down on it hard enough to break the surface of skin there. “Well _I_ can’t!” her eyes dart around to avoid looking at Allison’s casket. “So don’t expect me to stick around and _watch_ this.” Before she breaks down, she brushes past Stiles’ shoulder and heads for the exit, a hand covering her mouth to keep the choked sob inside of her throat. Tears fly freely from her eyes as she makes a run for it, and she can feel the many pairs of eyes on her, but she doesn’t care. She only dares to take one look back, and it’s at Stiles. His shoulders are slumped now, but without any more hesitation, he forces himself up the steps and takes a place standing beside Scott, a reassuring hand moving to his back. Lydia turns her head away, and finally, she **leaves**.

 x-x-x

**_Present day…_ **

 

Lydia winced at the memory of Allison’s wake. It wasn’t all that long ago, but it felt like ages. She remembered showing up to the funeral the day after, thinking her friends would be angry with her for not visiting Allison during the wake. Much to her surprise, no one even mentioned it. They understood how hard it was, and Scott found himself regretting his decision to approach the casket. It was only a confirmation of how empty Allison’s body was now.

Kira, Scott, Lydia and Stiles all held hands during the burial. The four of them standing side by side with their fingers intertwined in a small line, drawing strength off of one another to find the courage to get through the entirety of that day, and more specifically, the moment the casket was lowered into the ground. It had all been leading up to there.

            The reassurances they all whispered amongst each other that day had been so promising. Lydia had almost been convinced that they would be okay, that these people were her pack and they were never going to drift apart. It was within days that they’d all emotionally cut themselves of the ties that bound them to Allison and everything regarding her death. It was too difficult to talk about it, so no one did. Eventually, they stopped talking about most things.

            Lydia sat up straighter on Scott’s bed when he returned from the kitchen with a glass of water for her, even though she was sure she hadn’t asked for it. Another reminder of that day.

            “I’m not thirsty,” she says when he offers it to her.

            “Your face is flushed, you should drink something.”

            “I’m okay.” She holds her hands between her thighs, scratching a manicured nail over the back of her hand nervously.

            “I just don’t understand any of what you told me,” Scott brought forth. “Was it a banshee prediction? Were you sensing that Stiles is in trouble?”

            “I don’t know!” Lydia shoots back with agitation. “I just thought you should know exactly what happened out in the woods. It just…” her shoulders slump, “It feels like someone’s messing with me.”

            “…Maybe you’re doing it to yourself…” He knows he has to be careful because Lydia is unpredictable with her attitude. He doesn’t want her to think he’s calling her crazy, but she’s been through a great deal as of late and maybe grief affects banshees differently than other people. There was still so much they didn’t know.

            Lydia focuses her eyes on him. “How?”

            “I really don’t know… I’m just speculating,” Scott sighs. “We’re not going to figure it out just by sitting here. We need real answers. Maybe Deaton can do something.”

            “Yeah,” she snorts in response, unbelieving that this was a solvable problem.

            Scott twiddles his thumbs as an uneasy silence fills the room.

            Tonight, the McCall pack was planning on going to the fair, a reward for Beacon Hills students after being declared champions of the lacrosse match. Every year, the winning school received a discount on tickets to the local Land of Amusement, a carnival park, and the players got them for free. It was going to be overcrowded and they knew the killer long lines were inevitable, but they weren’t about to miss a night of bonding and fun.

            Scott frowned as he considered the state of the pack in its current condition. Everyone was very disconnected when it came to their emotions; things were still tense and broken after Allison’s demise. He watched Lydia take a sip of the water, condensation rolling off the sides and dripping onto the comforter of his bed. She looked worn, like she hadn’t slept in days. Scott was unprepared for the amount of guilt that weighed him down with a sudden ferocity, causing him to lower his head in shame for not seeing it before. He knew she was struggling, but she seemed to be handling things better on her own. It wasn’t like Lydia had asked for help. Now she was experiencing something with her abilities that she never had before, and it was frightening for all of them. If Stiles was in danger…

            “I just want to know why I heard him say things to me on the phone before he ever did,” Lydia huffed, soft red hair swaying as she shook her head. “I thought we already established that I’m not psychic!”

            “There’s still so much we don’t know about your powers, Lydia.” Scott grimaced at the uncomfortable truth in that statement. There was just _so_ much to be discovered. “If you’ve…” he can’t think of the right word, “ _unlocked_ some new banshee power then maybe you can predict deaths in different ways now!”

            Lydia nearly spills the cup in her haste to place it down, giving Scott an unforgiving stare. “This isn’t a video game, Scott! This is my life.”

            “I know!” Scott connects two hands with the air between them in a defensive position, “ – and maybe it’s not supernatural at all.” He waits until she makes eye contact with him again. “Maybe it’s psychological.”

            Lydia nods in agreement as she adds, “- Like maybe I _am_ losing my mind.”

            “That’s not at all what I said.” Scott is quick to rectify his words so that she understands, “You’ve been through a lot, and maybe this is your brains way of telling you to take it easy.”

            The banshee slaps her hand on the blanket, rolling her eyes in an animated fashion. Even as she pulls away, an impression is left folded into the material until it finally bounces back to its original shape. “Great, so now my own brain’s against me, too.”

            Scott is left feeling the conversation had gone unfinished when they’re interrupted by the vibration of his cellphone. He forces a reassuring smile and flashes it at his friend, but Lydia appears no less frazzled than he feels. “Hey Kira.”

            “Are you ready to go on every ride with me?” She sounded from the other end.

            Scott laughs, scratching his nails over his chin. “Only if I get to be romantic and win you a stuffed animal at one of those overpriced games.”

            Lydia fights the overwhelming urge to gouge out her eyeballs, although she can’t help but crack a smile at Kira’s next comment,

            “I can win my own stuffed animals, thank you very much!”

 

x-x-x

 

            They meet up with everyone else in the parking lot of the fairground. The air smells like a mixture of candy and fried food, and in the distance they can see the flickering lights decorating the area and hear the screams of the passengers on the swing carousel. Smoke rises from a corndog stand and lifts into the air, disappearing into nothingness as a gust of wind carried it away. The faraway voice flitting through a loudspeaker in an advertisement alerted them of the presence of carnival games.

            As a group, they collectively head through the parking lot swarmed with vehicles searching for parking, as they earlier had for nearly 10 minutes. The three girls walk at a steady pace side-by-side with Stiles and Scott trailing behind for a moment to converse alone.

            “Did Lydia talk to you…?” Stiles approached the topic carefully, shrugging his shoulders with his hands shoved into the pockets of his blue sweat jacket. She told him she was going to tell Scott about their experience with the woods, the phone call she got from someone that wasn’t him. He wasn’t sure if she’d actually go through with it, but if he was being honest with himself, he really wanted Scott’s opinion on the matter.

            “Uh...” The alpha rubs his nose as he eyes the girls to make sure they are unable to hear what they’re discussing. They seem to be immersed in their own conversation. “Yeah she did.”

            “So what do you think?” Stiles can almost feel the mood tighten as Scott’s face drops. He needs to lighten the mood a bit. “Is our girl finally going bonkers?”

            Scott’s head turns abruptly to his left to give Stiles a hard stare. “She’s not crazy.”

            “I was joking,” Stiles grumbles lowly, though he understands his friend’s inability to find humor in the seriousness of this situation. Either Lydia’s powers were expanding and he was really in trouble, or something else was at work here. Something Lydia was creating in her own complex wonderland of a mind.

            “I don’t know what’s happening with her,” Scott says honestly. “But it’s scaring me a little.”

            Stiles considers this. “I don’t know if we should be _that_ worried yet… I mean…” his eyes widen. “Unless you think we should be worried?” Kira laughs at something Malia said in the background.

            “She _does_ have a history of wondering off for long periods of time, maybe that’s just what this was and she was hallucinating during the entire thing, thinking you called her, thinking she felt someone knock on her door and brush past her. This could all be part of the whole banshee thing, really.” The alpha finds himself calming down as he rationalizes Lydia’s behavior when she ran into the woods.

            “So then my life probably isn’t in danger?” Stiles asks, mostly rhetorically.

            Precarious of how to answer this, he decides to settle his friend’s mind instead. He has no way to be certain, but until they have more evidence to go on, it doesn’t matter. “Nope,” he tilts his head before adding for good measure, “Not right now, anyway.”

            “Oh, well that’s reassuring,” Stiles responds facetiously, the usual twinge of humor reattached.

            The girls slow down to allow Scott and Stiles to catch up as they finish whatever they were talking about. Malia wraps an arm around the entirety of Stiles’ left arm, clutching to him as they make their way through the entrance of the fairground and to the ticket booth.

            “Ready for me to win you that stuffed animal?” Kira asks Scott with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes.

            Lydia’s cheeks melt into a hue of geranium pink as she stands squished in the middle of the group of five, sticking out as a dead flower would among a row of healthy roses. She bumps against Malia’s shoulder continuously, the werecoyote unnoticing of the banshee who was becoming more claustrophobic as the seconds wore on.

            Within 15 minutes, they have their “unlimited rides” wristbands and Kira and Scott have disappeared into their own booth on the Ferris wheel, seeking a private place to kiss and enjoy the view at the top.

            When Stiles climbs into the next available booth with Malia’s hand in his own, Lydia stands uncomfortably near the entrance to the ride with her lips pursed. She was angry with Scott for leaving her behind with them when he knew it would be awkward, how could he not?

            Stiles freezes as Malia takes a seat, turning back to look at Lydia, “You can come you know…” he prods upon seeing her still form. He didn’t understand why she was hesitating. He and Malia would obviously be unable to find pleasure in each other’s lips if Lydia was accompanying them, but he didn’t think that she wouldn’t. It wasn’t like it was a big deal, they were after all there as a group.

            “Ah, no,” Lydia tries her best to sound convincing, like she isn’t upset. “I’m gonna go get some funnel cake or something. I’ll meet up with you guys after you’re done with the ride.”

            Stiles can feel the eyes of the attraction’s attendant staring daggers at his face, the crowd in line growing impatient with the wait, but he doesn’t care. “What?” He snorts. “That’s stupid, we’ll just skip the ride.” Stiles motions to exit. The attendant, a middle-aged Indian man who looks like he’s seen days better than this one, immediately unhooks the chain to allow him out.

            “No, it’s really not a big deal.” Lydia pushes past the annoyed people pressing against her to leave the line. “I didn’t eat anything all day so I’m a little hungry. I’ll meet up with you guys after,” she reiterates, gesturing her hands toward the attraction for him to return to it.

            Stiles’ expression sinks, but he relents and climbs back inside the colorful orange booth for a final time, settling along the plastic seat and placing a hand on the metal bar behind Malia’s head.

            The drive rim of the Ferris wheel begins to rotate and creek as the attendant starts it up again until the next booth is at the entrance, allowing a family inside that one.

            Malia fingers the strings of Stiles’ sweat jacket, turning it in her index finger with a flirty smile adorning her sharp lips. “Kiss me already,” she whines.

            He watches her suck her bottom lip into her mouth, drawn in for a hazy moment of passion before he’s pulled out by his own thoughts, his eyes averting to look over the rail and below them. The ground was moving further away as the Ferris wheel continued to spin. Lydia’s small form was growing tinier by the second, but he could see her finally turn and walk away.

            “What’s the matter with you?” Malia asks directly. “You smell weird.”

            “It’s been a weird couple of days,” Stiles mutters as he watches Lydia aimlessly walk around the park like a lost little girl, clutching the strap of her purse with both hands. She reaches up to brush a clump of red hair behind her ear, out of place among a massive crowd of rowdy teens.

            Lydia rolls her bag up her arm until the strap is hanging from her shoulder, her hands moving to wrap around herself. So many of her classmates were around, people that used to look up to her ignoring her. She wanted to drown in her misery; she wanted to sink into the concrete below her Jimmy Choo’s and fade away.

            “Is that Lydia Martin?” A face popped up in front of the banshee’s, startling her. It was one of the stupid jocks she used to hang out with, courtesy of her long friendship with Regan Fisher and the many boys she forced Lydia to talk to. They were all shallow and completely idiotic; Lydia hated dumbing herself down just to fit in. “It _is_ you!” His face broke out in a cheeky grin.

            “Hi Logan,” she forces out.

            He looks back to his friends, waiting for them to join him before continuing, shaking his head with a mocking confused pout on his face. “What are you doing here?”

            Lydia glances toward the Ferris wheel, tightening her hold on her bag as she is overcome with anxiety. “I’m just here with some friends.” Her eyes flicker away, and she bites down on her tongue in punishment for feeling intimidated by these Neanderthals. This wasn’t like her. She hadn’t behaved this way since Jackson.

            “Friends?” Logan cackles, rubbing the stubble on his chin.

            “Do you mean the voices in your head?” One of his friends chimes in.

            Logan is hysterical in response, clutching his stomach and smacking the other boy playfully in his chest.

            Lydia inverts her lips and bites down harder. She can taste the blood in her mouth, the cut on her tongue. “ _No_ ,” she grunts.

            “Why are you wearing so much make up, schizo-girl?” Logan taunts, his face poking out of his neck as he leans in to be standing at the same height as her. “You’re still ugly, even when you’re all caked up.” He smirks as he digs the knife deeper. “Schizo-girl.”

            A female standing beside Logan can’t help but add to the bullying, finally included on the antics that are generally directed at her. Critiques that were usually about her looks and personality were easy to come by, so it was nice to point that aggression at a different girl for once. Maybe they would treat her better if she did it. “I like that name, it’s better than _Lydia_.” her face twists in disgust. “Where are these supposed friends of yours, schizo-girl?” she gets in her face, reaching two hands up to shove at her lightly. “They’re not _here_.”

            Stiles narrows his eyes as he watches the scene play out on the ground below. He can’t tell what they’re talking about, but Lydia looks afraid, and that ugly girl with the brown hair definitely just pushed her. He pushes himself further on the seat, on his knees as he peers over the side, his arms supporting along the bars.

            “What the hell are you doing?” Malia shoots, taking hold of his leg. “Are you trying to jump off? I’m pretty sure you would definitely die, Stiles.”’

            “No,” Stiles growls back, her voice interrupting his train of thought. He slaps his hand on the metal. “Logan and his gang of rodents are hassling Lydia.”

            It’s Malia’s turn to climb onto her knees, taking a position similar to Stiles as she looks over the edge and down below. “Wow, you’re right.” She nods in agreement, appearing entirely unfazed.

            “Don’t put your hands on me,” Lydia slaps the other girls hand away, her eyebrows dangerously rising.

            “Did you just touch my girlfriend?” Logan took a step toward Lydia, pointing an accusatory finger at her chest, “You schizophrenic bitch.”

            “Wow,” Malia declares from the booth of the Ferris wheel. “He just called her a bitch.”

            Stiles does a double take in her direction, “You can hear them?”

            “Super-hearing, Stiles,” she reminds with a roll of her eyes. “Just like I heard you and Scott talking about Lydia’s creepy powers before.” she shrugs nonchalantly before wrinkling her forehead in confusion. “Stiles, what’s a ‘schizophrenic’?”

            He pointedly ignores her question, his heart beginning to rattle as the bullies laugh at another insult clearly directed at his friend. “What are they saying?” He asks Malia hurriedly.

            “The girl with the dirty hair just said that if they weren’t in public she’d break her neck,” The werecoyote chews on her lip. “Isn’t that against the human rules?” Malia’s ears bounce in surprise at the notion. “She’s going to get in trouble.”

            “ _Focus_ , Malia!” Stiles snaps, his fingers red where they tightened on the metal bar. “What else are they saying?”

            Lydia swallows hard as she lifts her chin at them. _I am superior to these imbeciles_ , she thought. If she kept repeating it in her head, maybe she’d start to believe it. _I am not a coward._

            “Look at this bitch with her sarcastic little self,” the brunette continues to berate her. “I should slap you silly, you know.”

            “Hey!” An unexpected voice calls from nearby, grabbing the attention of the entire group. Calvin jogs toward them, stepping between the girls and pressing a hand against Lydia’s arm until she gets the message and backs up a few paces. “What do you think you’re doing?” He asks the bullies.

            “ _New kid_ ,” Logan muses. “Of course the weird guy would shack up with the weird girl of Beacon Hills.”

            “Get out of here,” Calvin glowers. “You don’t wanna start something here, we’ll both get arrested.”

            Logan sharpens his eyes before nodding shortly. “Come on, guys.” He takes hold of his girlfriend’s arm as they walk away. Before they do, he shouts to the redhead over his shoulder, “You belong in Eichen house!”

            Lydia closes her eyes tightly, willing any and all tears away. She wasn’t going to do this now. “Calvin,” she sighs his name. “What are you doing here?”

            Stiles lets out a breath of air he hadn’t been aware he was holding, relief running through him as the wind brushed over his sweaty skin at the sight of Calvin stepping in. He never thought he’d be so relieved to see the guy. Anger still prickles along his clenched fists, a grunt leaving his mouth as he considered Lydia’s bullies. Logan was always a prick, this was nothing new. He had a reputation for being the most high and mighty bastard among his group of headstrong friends.

            “Now can we focus on other things?” Malia turns away from Lydia and her drama, flashing a quick smile at her almost-boyfriend.

            Stiles pauses for a split second before blinking and returning his attention to his…. _her_. “Yeah,” he mumbles, a knuckle grazing the spot under her chin as he lifts her face to meet his lips.

            “I wanted to see you,” Calvin divulges to Lydia honestly, a sly uplift of his cheeks leaving them ample as he smiles. “Maybe we can go on the haunted house ride together, I promise I’ll hold your hand,” he teases lightheartedly.

            Lydia’s eyes dart around nervously. They’re in a public place, he can’t try anything. Just like Logan or his sleazy girlfriend couldn’t do anything. “I don’t really want to be around you right now.”

            “What are you talking about?” Calvin’s nails dig into his palms with frustration. He knew she was going to pull some bipolar girl shit, Lydia did this all the time. She was constantly changing her mind about them. “I’m your boyfriend,” he arrogates, his arms flopping to his sides as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

            “You almost crashed your car just to scare me!” She hisses, her head outstretched from her neck, her face in his to overpower him, to take control of the situation. “You left scratches on my thigh you know,” Lydia declares pointedly, crossing her arms and refusing to give in. She has to raise her chin in order to feel closer to his height, but it succeeds in giving her a stronger feeling of capability.

            “I’m sorry, Lydia,” somehow, he still sounds annoyed. “But you need to get over it. It’s not like I actually crashed it or anything, and your leg is _fine,_ ” he rolls his eyes at her overdramatic behavior. She was trying to make a scene out of nothing.

            “Digging your nails into my leg is not _fine_ not ever.” Lydia bites on her tongue animatedly rolling her eyes as she adds on, “Alright, if it’s in the heat of the moment and we’re furiously making out it’s okay, but you did it to get me to stop talking. There was nothing intimate about it.”

            “Okay, show me.” Calvin shrugs his shoulders.

            “Show you…” Lydia trails off, unsure of where this is going.

            “Your leg. If it’s so cut up, then show me, because I don’t believe you.” He reaches a hand forward to lift her skirt, but she jumps back so suddenly that she nearly gives herself whiplash.

            Lydia’s eyes scan the area to make sure no one saw his movement, “Are you crazy?” She growls.

            “I knew you were lying,” Calvin runs a tongue over his lips. “Lydia, I didn’t want to have to bring this into it, but if you don’t stop being a self-absorbed little child I’m going to have to do something extreme.”

            “What the hell are you talking about?” She stomps a heeled foot against the pavement, green eyes sharp and cold as she regards him. In no way, is she about to take his violent outbursts against her; especially when they were in a crowded amusement park and not a hidden place where no one would help. She’d be assisted in seconds, and he was delusional if he thought he would get away with it. If he thought her friends wouldn’t be off of that Ferris wheel and protectively by her side. They may be distant and a little bit oblivious, but they would take care of her if they knew.

            Calvin blinks at her for a few silent moments before his eyes slowly trail in a line toward the Ferris wheel. “I really hope that something doesn’t cause that Ferris wheel to collapse on itself.” his gaze quietly returns to Lydia, tilting his head at her innocently. “Aren’t your friends on that ride?”

            Lydia shakes a finger at him before gruffly asking, no, _demanding_ of him, “Are you - _threatening_ my friends?”

            He leans in very close, his breath whispering against her lips. “No, Lydia.” his eyes admire her candy apple colored lips. “I’m just telling you that if something happens to that – ” his index finger aims at the ride. “ - Ferris wheel, and everyone on it ends up horribly mutilated or even dead, it might just be _your_ fault.”

            Her breath shakes as she speaks, she can’t stop it. “You don’t know how to do that.”

            “Disassemble a Ferris wheel?” he questions huskily. “You mean I don’t know how to start by unbolting the hydraulic cylinder welded between the chassis and the wheel support? That I’m not supposed to remove the center axle and re-adjust the sliding of the poles, that could hypothetically, tumble down if too much weight is added?” he watches a couple climb into a booth on the Ferris wheel. “That too many people couldn’t cause the horizontal poles to collapse on themselves without the proper support?”

            Lydia’s breathing becomes uneven and fast.

            Calvin watches her squirm in satisfaction. “Technically, one could even make it look like an accident. After the _accident_ ,” he emphasizes, “it would be investigated. But it would just look like someone didn’t unload it from its trailer properly, that maybe the excessive rain the past few days rusted the already-improperly installed wires and caused a catastrophic event.” a finger goes up to twist in a loose red curl. “It would be in the news for months. Beacon Hills would hold some depressing vigil and a year from this day there will be another.” his eyes cloud over as this fantasy takes him to another dimension. “Every year on this day… it will be the anniversary of _that_ day. It will be mourned for years until finally, everyone who was there to witness it dies, and the next generation forgets.”

            The banshee doesn’t try to stop her flow of tears or to even pull away from Calvin’s hands touching her hair.

            Calvin pulls away from the dream suddenly. “Or maybe I give your town too much credit. They’ll probably get over it faster than that, knowing how frequent the deaths are in this shitty little place.” He acts like he’s only just noticed the trauma written across her face, his eyebrows drawing together with concern “Lydia, you look upset.”

            Her bottom lip quivers, but she is still able get her thoughts out. “You didn’t really do any of that….” the horror spreads through her quickly, unease twisting in her gut and spreading until it moves up her throat in a choked cry. “ _did you_?”

            The frightening teenager presses his cold lips to the side of Lydia’s jaw, sending a shiver through her at the blistering sensation. “I told you not to fuck with me.” a hand tightens in her hair painfully. “I’m your _boyfriend_.”

            “Just don’t hurt them,” Lydia cries, her palm cupping her mouth to stop the onslaught of sobs that want so badly to escape the tight rawness of her throat.

            “As long as you don’t give me a reason to, I won’t.” Calvin’s grip loosens, soothing now as it rubs over the deep red locks under the dim light of the moon. “I promise,” he whispers sincerely, stepping forward to pull her in his romantic embrace as the wind wraps in her hair.

            She shakes in his hold, a tremor running through her, afraid and anxious. She has to respond or he’ll be angry, so she returns the hug, ignoring the warning spasm in her arms as they end up around his neck. _He can’t hurt them_.

 

x-x-x

 

Stiles holds Malia tightly as they exit the ride, the air having grown much colder in the 15 minutes they were on it. Each time the attendant stopped them on the bottom to let them out, they decided to go for another round, much to his annoyance. Her laugh vibrated and rumbled against his chest at the joke he made upon climbing out of the booth,

            “Don’t be so sour,” Stiles had directed at the attendant. “if you find yourself a cute girl I’ll control the lift for a while,” he winks at the man, leaving a trail of sarcasm in his wake as he took Malia’s hand and led her through the exit.

            “I could smell the anger on him, Stiles,” the werecoyote chuckles, “He did _not_ like you!”

            They wait for Kira and Scott to leave the attraction, the pair erupting into their own fit of laughter as they lean against each other like they need the support.

            “What’s so funny Bambi and Thumper?” Stiles raises amused brows.

            Kira can barely get out the explanation she’s laughing so hard, “Scott tried to blow a bubble for the attendant and accidentally spit his gum at him.”

            Stiles smirks, “Poor guy’s getting all the abuse tonight.”

            “Where’s Lydia?” Malia asks abruptly.

            Stiles is taken off guard by the question, as his not-girlfriend usually didn’t care much for the banshee. “She and Calvin are probably doing their own thing,” he shrugs.

            “Calvin’s here?”

            Stiles nods at Scott. “Yeah,” he mutters, deciding not to tell him about Lydia’s interaction with Logan and his sheep.

            “Oh, good,” Kira sighs. “That means we can all do our own couple thing.” she immediately feels guilty for assuming that was the case. Maybe Scott and Stiles wanted to hangout together. “Right?” she turns to Scott.

            “Oh,” Scott admires his best friend’s expression to make sure it’s okay. “Yeah, that sounds cool.” So much for pack bonding. That would apparently have to wait for the camping trip over the weekend. “Do you wanna get some cotton candy?”

            “You know exactly how to win my heart,” Kira smiles broadly, rocking on the tips of her feet excitedly. She loved alone time with Scott, especially when they were actually out doing something fun and not just kissing in his room with some random action movie playing in the background.

            “So I guess we’ll meet up later?” Stiles suggests, his eyes flickering. “Or I’ll just see you at school tomorrow,” he adds lamely. He wanted them to stick together, to play a game or something, but that was clearly not what Scott wanted. It was just easier these days for his friend to focus his attention on the Kitsune, a safe place without the pain of a past that he shared with Stiles and Lydia.

            “Okay,” Scott nods, wrapping his arms around Kira with a joking growl. She giggles in response, and that only makes him more adamant to make her laugh. “We’ll see you guys around,” he barely makes eye contact with them before pulling Kira away.

            “ _Yeah_ ,” Stiles rumbles as he watches them fade into the distance. “Whenever _that_ is.”

            “You smell angry,” Malia tells him.

            “No way,” Stiles responds with sarcasm heavy in his words. “You can see my teeth grinding, the frustrated rim of my eyebrows and the huff of air leaving my lips and smell that I’m angry? That’s some nifty power there, Malia. You should work at a circus.” When he finally looks at her, he regrets everything instantly. First, she appears hurt, but within seconds that look is replaced by a furious snarl.

            “ _Don’t_ ,” she pokes his chest, “ _be_ ,” again, “ _a_ ,” and again, “ _jackass_ ,” she jabs him one final time, with extra force to emphasize her point.

            The guilty teenager rubs the sore spot on his body in misfortune. “…Sorry,” he says meekly, though he knows he deserved it for taking his exasperation out on her.

            “Whatever,” Malia dismisses it. They were here to have a good time. “Hey there’s Lydia,” she smacks Stiles’ chest to gain his attention, oblivious to the fact that she once again hit the same sore spot, making him wince. “HEY LYDIA!” She screams at the top of her lungs, receiving some very annoyed glances. Stiles forces a smile at the offended onlookers, waving awkwardly in a way that said “please don’t beat me up”.

            Lydia’s heart jumped in surprise at the sound of her name being shouted, whipping around in surprise. She rolls her eyes at the sight of the werecoyote, but heads in her direction with Calvin trailing behind, stuck to her like a shadow. “Hey guys,” she puts up the front of a happy teenager, ignoring the stinging in her heart when Calvin takes her hand in his.

            Stiles doesn’t miss the movement, his eyes lowering to where they connected before returning to their faces. “ _Sup…_?” he nods at Calvin, unable to hide his annoyance.

            Lydia’s eyes glitter toward Calvin nervous to what his reaction may be at Stiles’ tone of voice.

Stiles’ jealousy goes undisguised to Calvin, but he isn’t angry. Instead, he finds it funny. “How are you on this fine night, Stiles?”

As usual, Calvin is weird. Stiles is not impressed, because two can play at that game. The game of narcissistic teenage boys. “Peachy keen, Mr. Easley, peachy keen.” he runs his fingers elegantly over his chin for effect.

Malia’s eyes switch between the pair like she’s watching a ping pong match before they stop on her not-boyfriend. “Stiles,” she starts, “what the hell are you doing?” the werecoyote finishes, bemused.

Stiles huffs, leave it to Malia to ruin a perfectly good standoff. Douchebag style. “Nothing, Malia,” he clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he feels the mood shift. The moment is over.

“I feel like everyone’s always part of this big joke and I just don’t get it!” Malia slaps her hands against her legs in frustration before waving her hand off. “Whatever, I’m over it. Do you guys wanna play bumper cars?”

Lydia stares at Malia blankly, before turning her questioning eyes to Stiles. _Seriously?_ He was _seriously_ dating _this_ girl?

“Bumper cars sounds like fun,” Calvin grins.

 

They end up getting food first. Malia can’t decide what she wants, so Lydia orders funnel cake first and she settles at a table with Calvin so they can share.

            Stiles stands beside Malia at the front of the line, humiliation and frustration perfectly combined as Malia holds up everyone behind them as she interrogates the server behind the counter. Stiles leans his elbows against the counter, desperately trying to cover his ears enough to block out the sound of her infinite questions.

            “The chicken wings,” Malia points at the menu above the counter.

            The server blinks at Malia. “Do you _want_ them?” She prods.

            “No,” Malia’s face twists in annoyance. She was sure that the server just interrupted her, and Stiles had definitely told her that was against a human rule. “You’re not supposed to interrupt people, Stiles tell her.” She shoves at his shoulder.

            He groans in response, landing his forehead against his the counter and smacking it repeatedly.

            “Miss, if you’re not gonna order…”

            “Oh my gosh she did it again!” Malia growls. “I had a question about the chicken wings, will you let me finish!?” The server leans a hand against the counter and lifts an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. The rest of the line repeats the same gargled noise that Stiles made. “Are they cooked, or is it like you guys have the animals in the back and cut them open and just hand it over?”

            “ _It_?” The server asks expectantly.

            “The meat…” Malia states. “Obviously.”

            Stiles can’t take another second of this, so he stalks over to the table Lydia and her boy toy are at and falls into the seat across from them. “I can’t listen to her right now, she doesn’t even know how a freakin’ menu works and I’m already agitated as it is. I don’t want to snap at her again, so can one of you _please_ help her?” He pleads desperately.

            “Take it easy, Stiles,” Calvin chuckles. “I’m guessing Malia doesn’t eat out often, is that the problem?”

            Stiles and Lydia exchange glances. He’d almost forgotten that Calvin was in the dark about the supernatural.

            At their silence, Calvin supposes he’s right. “Don’t worry, I’ll help her out. If there’s anything I know, it’s food.” He scoots off the seat and heads toward the line.

            Lydia grows anxious as she watches him approach Malia. He wouldn’t hurt her right? She shakes her head. Of course not. Not in front of everyone. Her heart skips a beat as she recalls his threat on the Ferris wheel. He had to have other ways of getting at her friends set in place, too. Had she made him angry in some way in the last few minutes?

            “Maybe I should stop him,” Lydia whispers, mostly to herself. She’s shocked when Stiles answers her, not realizing she’d said it out loud.

            “It’s not that big of a deal, if anything she’ll just creep him out,” Stiles snorts. “I’d really like to see the creepiest guy on the planet get creeped out. I bet it would be a treat.”  
            “Don’t talk badly about him!” It’s only because she doesn’t want him to get angry and hurt Stiles, but he doesn’t know that. He can’t, anyway.

            Stiles frowns. “Sorry, I know he means a lot to you.” At Lydia’s flinch, he continues, but not before leaning in and lowering his voice so that she is sure to be the only one that can hear him. “I saw what happened before.”

            Lydia’s large eyes widen beyond what would seem possible, palpitations shaking her heart and chest. He saw Calvin pushing her around, threatening her friends. That meant he also saw her be weak enough not to try to stop him, to let him be mean to her and try and hurt her friends without doing anything about her. He was going to be angry. _No_. Stiles wouldn’t do that, he would care. Right?

            As her thoughts race, she almost forgets to listen when he opens his mouth again. “Does that happen a lot?” he whispers, traces of guilt evident.

            “No!” Lydia shakes her head quickly. “He doesn’t – he wouldn’t.” She isn’t sure how to get herself out of this one.

            “I don’t mean just Logan,” Stiles admits. “I mean in general. Do a lot of people at school say things to you about…” he doesn’t want to say the words. He doesn’t want to ask if a lot of people call her crazy or schizo-girl, if she’s bullied for something she can’t control.

            “Logan?” Lydia tries to clear her head so that she can comprehend what he’s saying. Why was he talking about Logan? Weren’t they talking about… ? Recognition struck her hard, like a smack in the face. He saw Logan and his friends harassing her, not Calvin. “ _Oh_.” Lydia’s lips curl as she realizes she hasn’t answered yet. “Oh!” she feels faint and overwhelmed. “Not really,” her eyes divert, avoiding. “Sometimes.”

            “Tell me the truth,” he pushes. “Please.”

            “I don’t know,” Lydia considers what the truth really is at this point. It’s whatever he believes. “I’m good at ignoring it, so I can’t really tell if it’s happening.”

            “Lydia, come on,” he drawls. “Like you can’t tell if someone is harassing you in the hallway, pushing you or calling you names.”

            “What does it matter?” Lydia backfires. “I _am_ the schizo-girl.”

            “Don’t call yourself that,” Stiles barks quickly, a hand shooting across the table to lightly touch Lydia’s wrist, like he’s waiting for permission. At her lack of reaction, he encloses a hand over hers. “ _You_ know you’re not crazy, _I_ know you’re not crazy. It’s been rough, Lyds. For all of us.” he bows his head. “But that doesn’t make you crazy.”

            “Thanks, Calvin!” Malia’s voice draws their attention as she nears the table. “French fries were a good choice.”

            “See, I knew they would be,” he comments. “You’re a simple girl, and French fries are simple food.”

            She smiles warmly. “Thank you!”

            Stiles eyes Calvin warily at the backhanded compliment, but he knows he can’t say anything. He would only look like he was trying to start an argument out of nothing, and he didn’t need to have Lydia mad at him _again_. There’d been enough of that.

            Calvin wouldn’t have noticed that Lydia and Stiles’ hands were touching if he hadn’t caught the slight movement of the other boy pulling away so abruptly. It’s difficult to notice a mistake unless someone tries to correct it, and Stiles had made that error. He watches the spiky haired lacrosse player for the rest of the meal, taking discrete glances and studying the way he interacts with both girls. He had an interesting character about him, that much he could see from the surface. He wanted to know him better. He wanted to get under his skin.

 

x-x-x

 

Naturally, Lydia decides to choose the pink bumper car, feeling a bit more able to enjoy herself now that the circumstances had changed a bit. She was still fearful of what Calvin could do to her, and even more importantly, her friends. She didn’t know what he was up to, or what his goal was in bothering her so much. It wasn’t like there was anything about her that Calvin could possibly be so drawn in. He didn’t know she was a banshee, in fact, he barely knew her at all.

            “Malia, we’re gonna kick their sorry asses, right!?” Stiles calls to Malia from across the way, ignoring the stare a middle-aged woman gave him for saying the alternative word for butt in front of her son.

            “I’m gonna go coyote on them!” She reassures vigorously, clipping in her seatbelt. At his dropping smile, she clarifies, “In a very human sense!”

            “Oh, good!” Stiles shoots her a positive thumbs up.

            Calvin hops into the bumper car parked at the curb right next to Lydia’s. She pretends not to see him until he leans toward her car to mutter to her, “I saw you holding Stiles’ hand.” Her stomach lurches as he returns to his seat, eerily calm with nothing more to say. There was perhaps, nothing more frightening than that.

            When the attendant flips the switch and everyone starts slamming into each other, she doesn’t register it until a child smacks their car against the back of hers. The shove forces her into motion, and she spins her wheel around to follow the direction of Calvin’s bumper car, headed for Stiles.

            Lydia couldn’t help but panic, even though she logically knew that these bumper cars were designed to smack against other ones, so there was no way Calvin could _really_ hurt Stiles no matter how hard he pressed on the pedal. Sure, he could annoy him pretty badly, but that was as far as it went. Still, Lydia felt there was something more sinister at hand.

            “What are you doing?” She calls to Calvin when she is finally able to catch up beside him as his path is blocked by another person’s car.

            “You’re gonna see what happens when you try and cheat on me, Lydia.”

            “You’re being ridiculous!” She seethes. “I most certainly did not cheat, he was trying to make me feel better about stupid Logan!” He’s already driving past her. “Damn it!” she smacks her hands on the wheel and presses down on the pedal.

            Malia lets loose a battle cry as she smacks into the side of Lydia’s car, bursting into a fit of giggles as Lydia spins out a little bit. When she sees the dirty look Lydia gives her, she frowns. “It’s just a game, Lydia!” She shouts to her retreating back.

            Lydia watches as Stiles aims his sights on Calvin once he realizes how close he’s getting. They’re both headed straight for each other in a collision, Stiles dramatically pretending to honk his horn and telling Calvin to “bring it on!” Calvin on the other hand, is completely silent and determined.

            She’s so worried that Calvin has something up his sleeve, that he’s about to do something to Stiles.

            Everything moves in slow motion when their bumper cars connect, sending both boys reeling against their straps, only to be pushed back into their seats as the cars spin to the sides. Only seconds after that, the attendant turns off the attraction to allow the next set of waiting passengers on. Everyone heads toward the exit.

            Stiles is laughing hysterically, kicking his foot out against the side of the bumper car. “That was _awesome_!” He points at Calvin. “You – you’re,” he’s about to call him awesome, but stops short and settles for, “ _pretty_ awesome!”

            Lydia’s heart is still pounding as her large eyes look between the unharmed boys. Nothing had happened. _Nothing_. Calvin didn’t pull a knife and stab him, he didn’t shoot him, he didn’t make the god damn bumper car magically disassemble and collapse. Nothing.

            “If only we could get away with doing that in real cars,” Calvin jokes, sending a wink Lydia’s way at the indirect reminder of their recent mishap.

            “Are you okay?” Malia asks Lydia as she approaches her. “You’re still sitting in your bumper car and you smell like anxiety, it’s making me feel uncomfortable.”

            Lydia silently removes herself from the vehicle and heads straight for the exit. She feels like a chicken with its head cut off, confused and still very shaken. The build up for that moment had been so designed; Calvin definitely wanted her to think he was going to do something. So why hadn’t he? Was he just trying to manipulate her into thinking he was? Was he lying about the Ferris wheel also? At this point, she just wanted to go home and curl into a ball on her bed. **Alone**.

 

x-x-x

 

Stiles drove Lydia home after they all went on the haunted house ride. They’d almost gotten in trouble when Malia punched one of the robots that pop up along the sides as the track rolls you through on the seat, but they had managed to sneak away before anyone noticed that the plastic creature was now headless. It was then that they decided to end the night and go their own ways. Calvin offered Lydia a ride, but she was grateful when Stiles insisted he drive her because her house was on the way.

            When she entered her room and let the door thud shut behind her, she’d never felt such a strong desire to call Allison. To invite her over. They could talk about anything, she’d even let her talk about Scott or Isaac or any other dumb thing in the world if it meant she’d be _here_.

            “Allison,” she whispers tearfully to the air. “Where are you?”

            Three rhythmic knocks sound gently from under her bed. Lydia freezes for a very long moment, her surroundings silent and still as she hones her senses in one that one spot. It’s hidden by the blanket overhanging on the side of her bed, but she knows what’s under there. It’s the box.

            She draws in a shaky breath. “ _Allison_?” Three more knocks, identical as before. Lydia gasps and takes a step backwards; sweat beginning to pool under her arms and accumulating at the neckline of her shirt. She should call Scott. She should call him _now._ But she can’t move. She can only stare, her shoulders and neck tense; afraid to inhale and exhale because it might mean missing an important sound.

            Finally, she takes a step forward. One step. But there is no reaction, no other sound. So she tries her name again. “Ally?” Zip. Zilch. _Nothing_.

            After another long twenty seconds, Lydia shakes her hands to clear her fright. “This is stupid,” she tells herself, and forces her jelly legs forward, bending down to her knees and lifting the edge of the blanket. Only the box sat there, the same words scrawled in Allison’s handwriting on the note, “ _For Lydia_ ”.

            For the first time, she wants to open it. She wants Allison here with her, and was obviously meant to see whatever was inside. She didn’t know why she was hearing a sound under her bed, but it could be Allison. It could be Allison wanting to communicate with her. Maybe that was a new banshee power as well, interacting with the dead. The thought sent something sick spiraling in her stomach, because Allison was the only dead person she wanted to talk to.

            Lydia pulls the box from under its usual position under her bed, placing it on the surface of her bed before chewing on the bed of her nail. All that was left was to find the courage to look inside. To feel like she was worthy to know the message Allison left behind for her when she was the one that got her killed in the first place. “She wants me to see this,” she reminds herself, sweaty shaking hands reaching toward the cardboard covering.

With the force of will, Lydia snaps the climatic tension when she abruptly pulls the top off, no longer wishing to feel like she was in a horror movie.

 

It only got worse, because she finally saw what was inside.

  
_And she screamed._


	7. Little House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m trying to update quickly because I’m going on vacation soon and I may have to take a bit of a hiatus from this story for two or three weeks (unless I can fit some writing in while I’m up there). So I want to get as many chapters out before I go!

****

**_Little House_ **

_“She doesn’t look, she doesn’t see… Opens up for nobody_

_Figures out, she figures out  
Narrow line, she can’t decide, everything’s short of suicide_

_Never hurts, nearly works._

_Something is scratching its way out…_

_Something you want to forget about.”_

-          _The Fray_

Six

                Lydia is hysterical as she dials the numbers to Stiles’ cell, her clammy hands slipping over the keys of her phone as desperately tries to get in touch with him.  If she’d given herself a moment to consider it, she would’ve called Scott, but she was working purely on instinct right now. Lydia can’t even begin to form a coherent thought; she can’t process what just happened. All she can do is call Stiles. The ringing doesn’t last long, but for Lydia every second sends a more painful tendril spiking in her heart. The need to vomit was growing as her stomach swirled uncomfortably.

            “Hey,” Stiles answers quietly, his voice barely even there.

            She wants to say something but she can’t get the words out, can’t stop sobbing. This time, she isn’t even embarrassed. An arm grasps her chest as it becomes difficult to breathe when she begins hyperventilating. “The box –” she cries out, “the box Allison gave me.”

            “What?” Instead of trying to soothe her, he immediately goes for answers. “Lydia, _what_ box?” he asks sternly. He knows he sounds harsh, but it’s impossible for him to be comforting right now. Not with the news his father just gave him.

            Lydia chokes as she sucks in a great deal of oxygen, finally able to stop the steady stream of tears long enough to get a chance to breathe. She was almost beginning to turn blue. “Chris Argent gave me a box of stuff Allison put together for me!” She stumbles over her explanation a few times in her haste to get it out. “I haven’t opened it until now and…” she swallows hard as her eyes trail back over to her comforter, where the box still sits open. “The only thing inside was the dress I wore to Allison’s wake. _Her_ dress.” she shudders and a tear trickles across her lips. “It’s completely soaked in blood.”

            “Blood?” Stiles pales. “ _Whose_ blood?”

            “I don’t know, Stiles!” She’s now wishing she’d called Scott. “God, can’t you just be a little sympathetic?” she digs her nails into the skin of her arm as she rants. “You’re so selfish lately, Stiles! You don’t even try to be there for me, you’re not understanding how upset I am right now!” she’s as overwrought as before, unconcerned with how offended he’d be or how overemotional she may seem. There was absolutely no reason for _that_ dress to be in that box, especially covered in blood that could belong to anyone.

Immediately, Calvin came to Lydia’s mind. He did tell her he was going to show her not to mess with him for allowing Stiles to touch her hand. She originally thought he was going to immediately retaliate, to hurt Stiles. This was something else entirely, and she was now worried about her other friends. If Calvin had gone after them and left their blood on the dress… No, it didn’t make sense. She was with Calvin a half hour ago, he didn’t have the time to do any of this.

“Lydia,” Stiles says low, but forceful.

“No! Don’t even talk to me right now, I don’t want to hear your stupid voice.” Yet she doesn’t hang up.

“ _Lydia_ ,” he says more firmly.

She decides to listen to what he has to say, crossing her arms as she remains quiet. She’ll tear him a new one when he’s finished with whatever lame apology he’s about to deliver. Then she’ll call Scott just to be sure that he’s okay.

Stiles waits a moment to confirm her cooperation before gulping down his emotion and telling her news that would surely devastate her. “Allison’s body is missing.”

 

Her silence is deafening.

 

x-x-x

 

 Stiles was mentally preparing himself to call Lydia when she coincidentally rang him. The phone slipped out of his sweaty hands and he had to fumble with it for a moment before catching it short a few inches from hitting the ground. He wasn’t going to have any more time to figure out how he was going to tell her; any time to calm himself.

            When he answered, he was overwhelmed by the frenzied weeping on the other end. He came to the immediate conclusion that Scott had already called and told her, but when she started rambling about a box that Allison left for her, he sucked in a sharp breath. There was no way that these two occurrences weren’t related, and the possibility that someone had snuck into Lydia’s room and left her bloody dress there sent him reeling. There were already so many things to be concerned about. Primarily, where Allison was and who took her; followed by who snuck into Lydia’s room, how any why; and whose blood was on that dress.

            Stiles hardly hears Lydia’s vehement insults, because his head is clouded in its array of wild thoughts and fears. He didn’t want to know why Allison was taken; he just wanted them to find her. Blinking away fresh hot tears, Stiles focuses on the girl he’s talking to, saying her name until she stops babbling. And then he told her.

            As her cries subside into nothingness, he briefly wonders if she hung up, so he checks the screen. The signal is still strong, so he gives her any time she needs to process this information, contemplating heading over to her house. She couldn’t be in a right state.

            “What?” Emotion cracks her question, and she sounds so weak and small that it physically hurts Stiles’ chest.

            His body convulses, distressed as he cradles the phone to his cheek, as if she can feel the motion of attempted comfort through the phone. He licks his peeling lips as he whispers, “I’m so sorry.” He can hear her breathing. “The ground where her coffin is was completely burrowed in, like someone just took a shovel and started…” he stops short, realizing how hard this must be for her to hear a second too late.

            “It’s gone?” she gasps, unable to grasp the meaning of this. “ _Allison_ is _gone?_ ”

            “Yes,” Stiles allows his eyes to shudder closed. “My dad just told me, they think it happened sometime earlier tonight.”

            Lydia can’t let herself feel the weight of this right now, so she focuses on the prime suspect and what his alibi may be. “What time exactly?” She needs to know whether she can pin this on Calvin. If it was him, she’s done. She’ll kill the bastard who took Allison, whoever that may be.

            Stiles’ eyebrows knit together in confusion. She’s not asking the important questions. “Lydia, did you even hear what I said?”

            “What time, Stiles?” she snaps impatiently, running a hand through her thick head of hair and feeling the sweat at her hairline that she hadn’t known was there.

            “They don’t know yet, my dad’s at the station right now working on the details.”

            “Where’s Scott?” Her heart is wildly beating.

            Stiles sighs, “He’s really messed up,” he sits down on the end of his bed. Everything seems so much more real than usual. There’s nothing mystical or supernatural about this. Allison’s gone and it’s so very… _real_. A disturbing prickle rolls up his arms as he imagines her limp body in a list of possible places it could be. The thing that was really terrifying was the _why_. What could someone need a dead Argent’s body for?  “He’s home.” He doesn’t want to think about the turmoil Scott might be going through.

            “It happened while we were at the fair,” Lydia acknowledges under her breath.

            “Yeah.”

            Lydia’s eyes widen and her head jolts upwards. “Maybe I can find her.”

            “What?”

            “I’m a dead body GPS, Stiles.” She gestures wildly with her hands despite him being unable to see her, “Ugh, if only I knew how to control it…” she chews on the edge of her nail. “Maybe if I drive around I’ll sense something.” She’s completely neutral on the fact that she may very well be walking into something very dangerous if she’s successful in finding Allison’s body. They still didn’t have an inkling of why she was taken.

            Stiles marvels at what a bad idea it is. “And what if we _do_ find her? What if it leads us right to her and whatever sicko dug her up?” he winces at his blatant choice of words.

            “We don’t have to walk right in there, we just need a location.”

            “I don’t think…”

            Lydia interrupts him angrily, “I’m going with or without you, Stiles! So be at my house in ten minutes or pretend we didn’t have this conversation.”

            Stiles wants to call Scott and tell on her, but he’s well aware of the fact that he can’t. Scott can’t emotionally handle being brought into this right now, and he probably wouldn’t be in any shape to fight a baddie if it came to it. They were better off on their own, and Lydia was better off with Stiles than by herself. “I’ll be there, but we’re bringing that.... _box_ to the precinct first.”

            She can agree to that. “Okay.”

Deciding not to look at the dress, Lydia moves away from her bedroom so she doesn’t have to be anywhere near it until Stiles is there to help her. As the phone call ends, she allows herself to fall back against the wall out in the hall, sinking down it until she lands on the carpet on her bottom. It’s only then that her remorse consumes her.

 

x-x-x

 

Stiles hadn’t expected the floral dress to be sodden with blood. It was so excessive that it had leaked through the box and over the surface of Lydia’s comforter. She was quick to throw out the entire thing before they left, ignoring his suggestion to just throw it in the wash. She didn’t want it anymore anyway.

            After closing the box and throwing it in a plastic bag that was spotted with blood before the end of the car ride, they bring it inside to his father. They received many curious and wary glances as they made their way through the station. The expression the sheriff had when he noticed their presence and what Stiles held in his hand was enough to make Lydia avert her eyes.

            He was quick to pass it off to someone else when Lydia explained that she found it in her room, and it was whisked away to be what Stiles assumed was “studied” and probably tested, too. His father’s reaction was only further confirming his strong belief that it had every bit to do with the missing body. Especially since the dress was hers. The fact that Lydia wore it to her wake was only icing on the very ominous cake.  
            “What’s gonna happen now?” Stiles had asked.

            “I’m sorry, Stiles, but I really don’t have time to talk right now,” the sheriff told his son, regret shining in his eyes. “This is just… a very important case. You should go home and get some sleep.” his eyes turn to the banshee. “Lydia, you’re more than welcome to stay at our house if your mom isn’t around, or even if you just want to.”

            Lydia would smile at his sweetness if her heart weren’t so heavy. “Thank you.”

            “And you said you have no idea who could’ve been involved in this, right?” he asks gently, just to be certain. He bows his head at her expectantly. The guilty look Lydia attempted to hide when he’d originally asked her upon her entrance had been enough to spark a warning inside of him. He was professionally trained to spot a liar, and he was almost positive that Lydia knew more than she was letting on. Of course, she wasn’t involved, but she was scared to say something.

            Stiles is first to speak up, much to the sheriff’s dismay. “Pfft, come on, dad. If we knew something we’d have gone after them _ourselves_ at this point.”

            “Hey,” the sheriff points a stern finger at the younger Stilinski. “Don’t talk like that. Not every circumstance is supernatural, and if you find out _anything_ about this case, you come to _me_. You understand me?”

            Stiles nods slowly.

            “Good.” he glances toward a group of officers talking hushed about the new piece of evidence. “I have to go now. Take Lydia back home, and let her have the bed.”

            Stiles would crack a joke if things were different.

 

x-x-x

 

            “Please let me in,” Kira gently knocked the backside of her knuckles along the wooden bathroom door where Scott had locked himself in. They were in his room when they received Stiles’ call and when it ended he claimed to need to go to the bathroom. She knew it was an excuse to walk away, but gave him a couple of minutes. When he didn’t return, she went after him, but now he wasn’t answering her and it was a little unnerving. “Scott?” There was a shuffling noise on the other side of the door.

            “You should go home.”

Kira’s eyes watered as she heard him speak, his voice was broken and it was clear he was crying. It was a pretty rare sight, and it damaged her.

            “I’m not leaving you,” Kira sniffled, running her nails over the door. “Please just come out and we can talk.”

            “I can’t… I can’t _do_ that.” he whimpered. “I can’t do any of this.”

            Kira’s chin wrinkles as she begins to cry for Scott and his heartache. It wasn’t at all common for him to express the bereavement he felt for Allison’s death because he never wanted to talk about it and Kira hadn’t pushed him. He’d been so convincing in keeping up cheerful pretenses that she would’ve been convinced he’d moved on if she didn’t know how close he and Allison were. It wasn’t that she was able to see much of it, but she’d spoken about it with Lydia many times. They were once in love, and the fatal wound Allison received was identical to the one Scott wore every day.

            “What do you need me to do?” She pleaded openly. “I’ll do anything.” The quiet seconds wore on as his cries faded into silence. “Scott?”

            The door rushes open so suddenly that she has to jump back to avoid it connecting with her face. Her boyfriend is determined in his stride, his red eyes the only indication that he’d ever been crying in the first place.

            “What are you doing?” Worry engulfs her as she follows him into his bedroom, where he is now angrily pulling on his sneakers.

            “I’m going to track her scent.”

            “Will it still…work?”

            “There’s no reason it shouldn’t.”

            “Then you’re gonna have to stop by the Argent house to grab something you can get her scent off of,” Kira tells him in a way that suggests she’s trying to keep him from doing it. He’s in no shape to be out there facing… anything. It could literally be _anything_ , and he wasn’t prepared for it.

            “Uhh,” Scott finishes loosely tying his shoes. “I kind of memorized it by now,” he replies curtly, moving toward his closet and pulling out a little purple sweater that was sitting in its own drawer. “But just in case.”

            Kira watches him inhale with shock written across her face, her body still because she can’t say anything about it. But she can’t help it. “You have her sweater?” She asks sedately, although unable to hide a spark of surprise underlying her question.

            Scott turns guilty eyes on the girl. “Kira, I’d love to sit and explain this to you but I really have to go.” he presses a chaste kiss to her temple but she bows her head sadly.

            “I don’t want you to go,” she confesses quietly. “What if you get in a fight?”

            The werewolf’s heart swells, weakened by her tender voice. If he doesn’t go, the images of some bastard keeping Allison’s body somewhere that wasn’t her rightful grave would haunt his brain. If he does go, he’ll later feel horrible about it for Kira’s sake, but she’ll move on from it. This had to be done, because even in her death, Scott needed to protect Allison. “I’ll be back baby, I promise.”

            The term of endearment was the last straw before Kira was really crying. He’d never called her that before. “Okay,” she manages weakly, feeling him offer her hand a final squeeze before he and Allison’s sweater were out the door. As the front door sounds an echoing slam, Kira can’t help but wonder what other things Scott may have kept from her.

 

x-x-x

 

Lydia had her head out the window, her eyes searching and her body stiff. She could feel a migraine coming on, courtesy of pushing herself too hard. This wasn’t something she’d practiced before, and she wasn’t even sure if this was something a banshee was capable of doing. Still, Lydia felt instinct tugging her toward that decision, because something primal told her that she was capable of it if she just figured out how to trigger that part of her ability.

            Every few seconds, Stiles would glance toward the girl, waiting for her to tell him to stop, to turn left or right or just give up. But she was having a hard time, and he could see it plain as day. He didn’t need to see her face to know that.

            “Drive slower,” she snapped suddenly, self-loathing at being unable to help her best friend for a final time. This could be her way of making up for being such a terrible friend, for letting her die and for not saying goodbye at the wake. Lydia’s eyes darkened in shame at the realization that she’d never be able to make up for what she did.

            “ _Anything_?” Stiles stresses impatiently, watchful of the asphalt illuminated only by the headlights of his jeep. They were approaching a more unfamiliar part of Beacon Hills, a low-budget area that he never had any reason to visit in the past. He doubted they’d find Allison anywhere around here.

            “We’re in the East side of Beacon Hills,” Lydia muses. “No, this isn’t right. Turn around.”

            Stiles sighs, “Turning around,” he obeys, rotating the wheel as he flipped the shift into reverse.

            Lydia’s fingers grasp the side of the vehicle below the open window to stop herself from falling against the seat as Stiles performs a U-turn. In complete concentration, her eyes scan the woods along the side of the winding road. Something about that collection of trees had her skin prickling, something unknown but somehow familiar. This was the right woods, but not the right entrance. They had to go back.

            “The preserve,” she shouts frenetically, recognition hitting her as her mouth opened. Anxious air leaves her lips, “The Nemeton.”

            The driver does a double-take in her direction. “Ah,” he sputters, “I don’t like this anymore.”

            “ _Stiles, drive!”_ She doesn’t have time for him to second guess his decision to come with her. Lydia will gladly leave him on the side of the road if he didn’t want to go, but she was damn well going to take his car.

            “ _No_ , Lydia!” He slams his foot on the brake, causing them both to jerk forward against their seatbelts. “I’m calling Scott.”

            “You are most certainly not!” When Stiles pulls out his cell phone, Lydia launches forward and smacks the thing from his hands, causing it to fly upwards.

“What the hell –” he shouts as they both grab for the phone, causing a tug-o-war match between the pair.

Clever as she was, Lydia pinches the skin on Stiles’ arm, a satisfying yelp echoing off the sides of the car.

“Ow, ow!” Stiles relents when Lydia motions to bite him, releasing the device and reeling back into his seat with his other hand gripping his injured wrist. “You _pinched_ me!” he shrieks. After taking an anxious breath, he points a strong finger at her. “And you were gonna bite me!”

Lydia admires the way his arm angrily flexes, thick blue veins outlined under the small dark hairs aligning his forearm. A sly smile perks her face as her eyes move up his loose red t-shirt to find his miffed gaze and the irked twist of his lips, “You should’ve known better.”

Stiles could testify in a courtroom that he could swear he saw Lydia checking him out, but he brushed that disruptive thought aside because it was impossible. “ _Okay_ ,” he re-adjusts his shirt and presses his foot softly on the pedal without any further acquiescence, wanting to wipe, no _kiss_ the smug look off of Lydia’s face. That would shut her up. He didn’t feel the smirk until Lydia asked,

“What the hell are _you_ smiling about?”

“ _Nothing_.”

 

x-x-x

 

Scott knew exactly where he was being led when he was a few blocks away from the preserve. It didn’t stop him, but his worry was definitely getting the best of him. Not for himself, but for Kira and Scott and Stiles, for how they would react if something really did happen to him tonight. He knew that even if he had to choose, he’d continue chasing Allison until it killed him. She deserved every bit of that honorable burial she got, every goodbye her friends and small bit of family had uttered. She was unceremoniously dug up like an unfinished project, something to be stolen. He was going to kill whoever was responsible for that.

Her smell was so strong now, although it was not the sweeter scent of apples he’d grown used to when they spent time together. All of his friends had a smell. Stiles was freshly cut wood and sometimes grass, and it was reassuring. Lydia was honey suckle, strawberries and the pages of musty books, refreshing and sweet. Kira was a rainy day and a sprinkle of cinnamon, like a mug of cocoa in a storm.  Allison’s had been poisoned by her death, citrus apples replaced by a tainted twinge of something foul and rotting. It twisted Scott’s stomach.

He almost vomited when his eyes located the Nemeton, Allison’s prone body stiffly lain across the top. The sight of her, skin drying and nails nearly completely fallen off, head balding and the hair that was left was dried and ready to break. It was when he finally looked at her sunken in cheeks that he really did throw up, expelling his stomach’s contents on a pile of leaves.

“Allison,” he cried, clenching his midsection sickly as he shivered. The ground beneath him grumbled slightly as the Nemeton began to shake and twist, or at least appear to, as a blue energy grew up from the surrounding ground and folded over Allison’s figure.

“No!” Scott shouted, watching stupefied as the energy moved to swallow her whole. Then it squashed into a circular orb, floating upwards from her mouth like a breath of air. It flashed and spun, and then it was speedily flying through the woods, swaying treetops and leaving a whistling of wind behind.

The young werewolf was unable to process what he just saw, but he did know that he could smell Stiles and Lydia headed this way from a distance. He had no idea what that little ball of energy was doing, but it couldn’t be good, and he didn’t want his friends anywhere near it. Taking one longing glance at Allison’s body, Scott makes a silent promise to return as he tears in the direction of their scents.

 

x-x-x

 

 

 

It wasn’t until they were nearly to the preserve that a feeling of dread began to build inside of Lydia with each roll of the tires. It was growing worse, a knocking noise blaring in her head, three knocks like the indication of death in old legends. It made her uneasy and carsick, and with a fierce change in attitude, she didn’t want to go anymore. It was the fear that something could happen to Stiles that finally did the trick, a brief reminder of that strange encounter they had behind her house. The one that could very well have been a warning of death if nothing else. She was ready to say as much until Stiles’ voice broke the atmosphere of the car,

“Scott!”

Lydia turned her head in the direction Stiles was looking and there was Scott rushing toward the car at a run. She stares in a thoughtful daze until the shutting of Stiles’ car door breaks her out of her trance.

“What’s going on!?” She hears Stiles call to Scott as he approaches.

“No, get back in the car!” Scott roars, shoving Stiles toward the vehicle.

With question in his eyes, Stiles does as he’s told and finds himself back in front of the wheel, fully expecting Scott to get in the backseat. Except he doesn’t. “Scott, come on!” The door is cracked opened so he can talk to him.

“I found Allison on the Nemeton,” Scott relays, panting for air. There’s a wild panic in his eyes as he tries to explain as quickly as possible. “There was some kind of energy wrapping around her.”

“Is she okay?” Lydia squeaks out before she can stop herself. It’s just after she asks that she realizes how it sounds. Of course she wasn’t okay. She’s dead.

Scott offers Lydia a sympathetic look in understanding. “After it was done swallowing her, it just turned into this ball and flew through the woods. I smelled you guys coming, and I was worried. I don’t know what happened to it.”

“Swallowing her, what does that mean?” Lydia knew there were other concerns, like whatever energy he was talking about and where it may be headed, but she could only think about Allison.

“She’s okay, Lydia,” Scott answers lowly, restating her earlier question as an answer. She knows what it means. She’s okay, but she’s not…okay.

“Okay.” A shaky whisper and it’s enough.

“Can we focus on this magical energy for a second here?” Stiles breaks in, slicing a hand in the air.

“We should get out of here first,” Scott finally gets in the back.

Stiles is driving off as Lydia chimes in, panicked “What about Allison!?”

            “I’ll tell the sheriff she’s there in a little bit, when we know it’s safe,” Scott tells her gently, wholly understanding her behavior. If he didn’t have to be the responsible pack leader, his wavelength of thought would be phasing in a similar frequency.

 

They blindly drive around Beacon Hills for the next hour, searching for something out of place, something that was probably horrible. They discussed theories on why Allison’s body was needed to perform whatever ritual was used to create that energy, what that energy could be and who was doing it and why.

There were just far too many questions, and it was unsettling for the pack’s leader, who was meant to hold the answers. One thing Scott knew for certain, he was calling Deaton the moment he got home. Maybe he’d even show up at the vet.

            Unfortunately, their aimless drive went nowhere and Stiles was dropping everyone off home without any further discussion. Stiles had called his father during the thoughtful silence that came after they agreed upon ending their hopeless quest, both Lydia and Scott frightened and angry with themselves for not coming up with anything. He pulled to the side of the road and dialed the familiar number. After assuring the older Stilinski that he was unharmed and on his way home, Stiles hung up his phone and forced his concentration back on the road.

            “They’re on their way to the preserve,” he informs his friends. “He told me he wouldn’t go alone.”

            “That’s good,” Scott mutters emptily, watching the houses fade by through the window. Every time he closes his eyes, the sight of Allison’s decaying body is there. He knows full well that it’s going to be in his nightmares tonight, and tomorrow, and for a long time; possibly the rest of his life.

            Stiles is adamant on getting one of them to talk, to end the sadness enveloping the entire car and following them along every turn of the road. “Scott, aren’t you going to call Kira?” It’s nearly 4am and the longest night of their lives, but the Kitsune was probably still wide awake and worried.

            “Aren’t you going to call Malia?” He shoots back, desperate to take the attention away from him. He didn’t want to call Kira now; she didn’t need to know about any of this. Scott had worked so hard to keep his mourning of Allison away from Kira, away from everyone. Now that Stiles and Lydia could see him in all his raw lowliness, he couldn’t let Kira see that too.

            “She doesn’t know about any of this,” Stiles says plainly. “Kira’s probably worried, you know.”

            Scott narrows his eyes at his friend, who can’t seem to mind his own business. “Maybe I’ll call her when I get home.”

            Stiles licks his lips as he tries again. “For her sake, I’m just saying -”

            “Stiles, back off!” Scott growls, flopping resigned against his seat just after his outburst.

            Lydia can feel the tension turn awkward as the car is once again as silent as Allison’s empty coffin. She feels for Scott, although she doesn’t directly say so. She hopes he can feel it in the way her fingers reach forward to brush along his shoulder, a reassuring gesture. After a small delay, his left hand goes up to rest over hers and it’s enough.

            When the car stops in front of Scott’s house, he’s quick with goodbyes and rushes out. The remaining pair stares at his back until he’s safely inside.

Lydia watches Stiles eyes sadly turn down to his lap, likely thinking over the small argument he had with Scott. She wanted to cry at the sight, knowing just how close the boys were. From friends to brothers, they were inseparable. Immediately, she felt the urge to cheer him up, but she wasn’t sure how.

            Placing either hand on both front seats, she gains Stiles’ attention as she climbs across the stick shift to plop herself in the passenger seat, flashing Stiles a bright smile.

            “Hi,” she said, tilting her head at him and blinking animatedly. Instead of reacting, he stares at her for a long moment. At each passing millisecond, Lydia grows more self-conscious, feeling moronic for attempting that. Of course it wouldn’t work. He wasn’t in the mood to laugh and she wasn’t funny anyway.

            “ _Hi_ ,” Stiles starts questionably, his eyes bemused and his expression bewildered. “What are you doing?” he asks, a playful edge to his tone matching a pair of lips curved upwards in a way that was uniquely Stiles.

            “I’m sorry, is someone sitting here?” she checks the seat with her hands, as if to make sure she isn’t on top of someone invisible.

            Stiles watches her, studying. One hand is still propped up on the wheel, although his attention remains on her. “Why are you acting so strange?” The car hums, still set on ‘park’.

            The banshee squirms uncomfortably, feeling her plan to make him laugh quickly failing. Now he was only questioning her odd behavior and she was going to look stupid if she tried to explain. She was just the crazy girl crushing on a guy who was, for the most part, with someone else. Taking his mind off his fight with Scott, off the dreary lengthiness of this night, it wasn’t going to work. At the end of the day, when they both lay their heads down on their pillows, they’ll be thinking about Allison and the Nemeton and whatever other obstacle was thrown at them.

            “I… Nevermind,” Lydia’s shrinks into the seat, a few pieces of hair releasing from its position behind her ear and swinging in front of her face, successfully hiding her embarrassment.  
            Stiles blows a large breath of air between pursed lips. “Oh, man,” he mutters to himself with a wistful shake of his head. “You just keep doing that.”

            “What?” Lydia’s eyebrows knit together as she becomes closed off, unwilling to open up.

            “Lydia…” he clucks his tongue like he almost doesn’t want to get into it, but eventually he just can’t help himself. “You do this thing, where you’re funny and sweet and then within a second,” he snaps his fingers, “you recede into yourself like you wanna evaporate. And it seems like you’re only getting worse. I can’t even remember the last time I saw you laugh and really mean it.”

            Lydia’s heart stutters. He never even suggested that he noticed any of that. He acted so ignorant all the time, like he didn’t see her. But he knew things. “ _I laugh_ ,” she tries, although weakly.

            “Yeah, you pretend to laugh,” Stiles drawls with a roll of his eyes, turning his head toward her. With the heaviness of this day, he doesn’t mind telling her the truth, the things they usually all keep to themselves. They’d become so good at it that it was hard to talk about what they felt, about their pain and their happiness and their secrets. He and Scott were still brothers, but they’d definitely drifted since Allison’s demise. His relationship with Lydia was in even worse shape.  “I just want us to be close again,” his voice quivers, thick with emotion. “I miss the sassy little detective I knew.”

            Lydia desperately wants to resist the temptation of his call. On any day before she met Calvin, she’d be hopeless to his confession. She’d reach over and hug him and tell him how glad she was to hear that, that she thought he’d forgotten about her. She truly had, but now he was asking for something she could no longer offer. Not when Calvin was whispering threats in her ear. If anything happened to Stiles and it was her fault, just as Allison was, she couldn’t come back from that.

            She dares take a glance his way and is immediately captured by his watering eyes, a silent plea. He needed her friendship back as much as she did. Tears drop freely from Lydia’s eyes when she asks herself why he couldn’t realize that sooner. She lowers her head as she weeps.

            “Hey, don’t cry,” Stiles implores dolorously, his pouty lower lip wobbling dangerously. “If you start with the waterworks then I’m definitely gonna turn into a blubbering mess,” he’s joking, but he’s slowly crumbling as the words come out. Lydia smiles through her tears. “It’s gonna be ugly,” he adds, a choked laugh from the girl causing a seizing in his chest.

            Lydia wipes her tears away with the sleeves of her jacket, knowing her mascara was probably unforgivingly streaked across her forehead.

            “We should get back to my house; maybe we can get some sleep before school in…” he reaches between her legs for the phone she earlier chucked in the corner of the floor in front of her, oblivious to the fact that she’s blushing. “Three hours.”

            “Your house?”

            “Well, yeah,” Stiles presses on the pedal. “Like you’re going back to an empty house after you found that bloody dress.”

            Lydia sniffles at the lasting tears on her face, remembering the fuzziness of earlier in the night with a sudden clarity. It had all happened so fast, and she was so unbelievably exhausted. “Oh yeah.” Maybe she would skip school. Calvin couldn’t bother her then.

            “Speaking of the dress,” Stiles begins. “Where was the last place you saw it? I mean – before finding it in the box,” he clarifies sheepishly.

            “I don’t know…? My laundry, the closet?” She leans her head back against the headrest as her weariness consumes her. “I’m really not sure,” her voice is full of razorblades as she begins to consciously dream, images of something colorful dancing under her eyelids.

            “Well maybe -” Stiles stops short when he takes a look at her. “ _And_ \- you’re asleep.”

            She unconsciously groans in confirmation.

            “Good talk.”

 

x-x-x

 

When Scott can finally hide in his own house, he believes he’ll be able to let his guard down long enough to shower and force himself to sleep.

He thought he’d pushed all of this down, but his grief was returning like a fit of regurgitation, making him once again come to terms with Allison and everything that happened last year. It had been easier lately, not thinking about it, just being with Kira and surrounding himself with small things that brought him happiness. The supernatural would always find them, and right now it was personal.

So when Scott entered his room to discover Kira sitting on his bed, he was only further emotionally drained until there was nothing left but exhaustion and pain.

“Scott,” Kira gasps at the sight of him, rushing toward him. She’s ready to hug him, but her arms stop mid-way through their journey. Something about the dimness of his face was a warning, and she didn’t want to piss him off any more than he seemed to be. “What happened?” she queries shyly, watchful of his eyes in case they tell her something important.

“Please go home,” he croaks, all but collapsing forward onto his bed as his night catches up with him.

            “Scott!” Kira kneels by his side, alarmed. “Should I call your mom?”

            “No!” he demands, though his face is smothered by the pillow he’s pressed against. “Don’t call anyone, just go.”

            “Did you find what you were looking for?” She doesn’t want to say her name and make it worse.

            Scott flips over in the bed, the entire thing bouncing at his prompt turn. “Yes. I can’t talk about this now.” he huffs with heavy eyes as he realizes, “I forgot, I have to call Deaton.”

            “That can wait until tomorrow, you’re too tired.” she runs her hands over his arms comfortingly. “Let me get this jacket off you, come on.”

            After a moment’s hesitation, Scott decides that sleeping without such bulky clothing would probably be a better idea. He sits forward, feeling her warm hands slide briefly over the skin of his stomach as she pulls off his jacket, the cotton of his shirt briefly sticking to the material.

            She blushes automatically, mumbling an apology as she places the jacket neatly folded on his end table. “Shoes?” she offers helpfully.

            “Yeah,” he lets her take the reins, flopping back onto his pillow.

            As Kira pulls off his sneakers, her nose wrinkles involuntarily, “Your feet stink.”

            He lifts his head just enough to give her a mock-judgmental look.

            “I-I just mean that they’re sweaty,” her shoulders lift upwards and the embarrassed Kitsune says no more as she climbs in beside him. She won’t even bother to wake him up in time for school, because honestly, screw it. The only real thing she had to worry about was what she was going to tell her parents about her abrupt text claiming to be spending a school night at Malia’s.

 

x-x-x

 

            “Tell me we’re skipping school today,” Stiles begs as he changes his bed sheets, tossing the pillows off the bed to tug the fabric over the corners.

            Lydia stands in the middle of his room watching his movements, her body weighed down by the exhaustion she knew they both felt. “Trig test,” she reminds him with thinly set lips, wanting nothing more than to curl in a ball and sleep for days at a time.      
            “ _Trig_ ,” Stiles reiterates hatefully, picking up his pillows to set them sloppily back on the bed. “I think our parents will let it slide if we miss school this one time, we were searching for a body all night!” He speaks bluntly, but neither of them feels the remark is insensitive. It was true.

            “Yeah, well I can’t tell my mom that,” Lydia snorted. “and if I did, she’d probably have a cardiovascular event.”

            “Have you considered… telling her? About everything?”

            “No way,” the look Lydia gives him tells him how crazy she thinks the suggestion is. “My mom would pack me up and move us out of Beacon Hills quicker than you can say…” she can’t think of a funny retort. “ – something that is easy to say.”

            “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious?”

            Lydia smirks at the cuter version of Marry Poppins standing in a t-shirt before her. “I’m pretty sure she’d already have us across the country before you finished saying that.”

            “Okay, so ixnay on the olfsway.” He can definitely see her point.

            “Appreciate it,” Lydia says with a nod, feeling the awkward tension rise another degree. “So...is sleeping in store or are we going to keep rambling at each other?”

            “Oh! Right.” Stiles scratches his head as he takes in her clothing. “Do you want a shirt or something?”

            Lydia looks down at her uncomfortable choice of attire. She’d only planned on going to the fair, so she was still in a fashionable little outfit that clung too tightly in areas that would certainly be left with pink imprints.

            “That would be nice.” As he moves toward his dresser and starts poking through messily folded piles she asks, “Where am I sleeping?”

            “That would be the bed.” Stiles runs his fingers over his favorite t-shirt, and he slowly glances back at her. “Feel lucky. Only very choice people get to sleep on the king’s throne.” He returns to his drawer, admiring the soft blue shirt with his touch. Without further thought, he pulls the thing from its resting place and hands it to her.

            “Choice people,” Lydia’s eyes roll toward the ceiling as she considers this, lips inverted thoughtfully. “I guess that would be Malia and Scott.”

            Avoiding the topic of his very close lady friend, Stiles twitches his lips. “Actually, Scott takes the floor.”

            Lydia narrows her eyes suspiciously, “Liar. You two are cut from the same piece of cloth, there’s no way you wouldn’t share a bed.”

            It was true, Stiles was lying, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say without leaving a blaringly obvious pause in conversation, and pausing before being declared a liar would only make it more evident. He shrugs, attempting to appear sly and unshaken. “You’ll never really know, I guess.”

            Lydia stares at him with judgment before, “Pfft,” tightening her hands over the shirt in her hands she gestures toward the door with it, “I’m going to the bathroom to change.”

            “You do that,” Stiles says over his shoulder, having now returned to his drawers to find his own pajamas. Lately, he liked to sleep without a shirt on, but he wasn’t about to expose his _amazing body_ in front of Lydia. _She couldn’t handle it,_ Stiles thought to himself confidently, ignoring the twinge of self-consciousness that told him that wasn’t at all true.

            Lydia avoided her reflection until it was absolutely necessary. Pulling off her skirt was unsurprisingly difficult, and she could feel the marks left behind from the waistband before she even saw the little indentations there. The prices it paid to be a fashionable woman. More distracting than what her clothing left behind were the slowly healing scratches on her thigh. With a frown, she runs the tips of her fingers over the spot, still a little sensitive to the touch. She dreaded seeing Calvin later, and she wasn’t going to be in the right mood to deal with his antics. A thought occurred to her as she considered how angry Calvin would be if he knew where she was right now. Thankfully, he thought she went home after the fair and that was that.

            She pulls the soft blue t-shirt over her head when she’s down to her bra and panties, unexpectedly soft against her stomach, back and upper thighs. The fabric almost seemed to caress the sad scratches on her leg, like Stiles was comforting her even without his presence. Tonight had been such a reassurance that he was still there, that he still saw her. It was pretty clear to her now, that a lot of his distance was caused by the desire to avoid talking or even thinking about Allison.

            Taking a step toward the mirror, Lydia flinches at how worn she looks. It makes her appear older, and it isn’t attractive in the least. The bags under her eyes run deep, giving off the impression that they have been there longer than the lengthy stress of this past day. She wraps a hand in her hair and pulls it to one side, a collection of thick red hair frizzing to the left of her face.

            Lydia hated her reflection; she hated her smeared makeup and the stained tears on her cheeks that seemed to always be there. Stiles had probably already compared her night-look to the one Malia wore when she cuddled with him at night. A tall beautiful light-haired and tanned brunette with a figure Lydia would die for. What was she? Petite, freckled, pale and short.

            When Lydia finally made her way back into Stiles room, saw him in a pair of plaid deep green sweatpants and a grey-tank top that accented his body in a very positive way. Working out was definitely one of Stiles’ better decisions. Going to the gym with Scott was a pretty regular thing for him, now.

            Although he knew Lydia in nothing but his favorite t-shirt would be a sight to behold, Stiles was unprepared for how actually seeing it would affect him. It was something he’d wanted for years, it had even made a few appearances in his dreams sophomore year. It was usually a tighter fit, but on her frame it was loose and longer, edging to her upper thighs and scraping along the milky skin there, something that really caused a stir in Stiles’ loins.

            He clears his throat as her eyebrows furrowed at his stunned silence. “Looks good on you,” he manages to speak evenly.

            “Nice pants,” Lydia smirks at him, her eyes running over the material and stopping on his… Her head jolts up to force eye contact. “They’re green.”

            Stiles chews his lip as he watches her warily. “They _are_ ,” he confirms.

            “So if I’m taking the bed… where are you going to sleep?” Lydia threads her fingers through her hair nervously, unsure of what else to do with them. Her toes press against the carpeting.

            “Ah,” he runs a hand over the back of his neck as he admires their surroundings. “I can set something up on the floor.” for his own pride he adds, “Y’know, like Scott.” Because sharing a bed with your also male best friend may be interpreted badly, and knowing Lydia, she’d think he and Scott were big babies for it.

            “ _Of course_ ,” Lydia concurs, a knowing twinkle in her eyes. “But seriously, you don’t have to sleep on the floor.” she remains a calm exterior as she shrugs her shoulders. “We can share.”

            Stiles isn’t sure if he heard her correctly. “Can we… we can what?” he stretches out his ear lobe. “I don’t think I caught that.”

            Lydia saunters toward the bed, running two flat palms across the surface. “There’s a lot of bed here. More than enough to go around.” She doesn’t mean to sound like she’s trying to seduce him, but it was kind of an automatic reaction to the circumstances. She was scantily clad, he was in an adorable pair of Stiles-friendly pajamas, and they were alone and tired in his room late at night. There was never a better opportunity, and if things didn’t go the way she wanted them to she could blame it on her exhaustion in the morning. It wasn’t like she was going to kiss him or anything. She just wanted to remind him that she was there and maybe hint at just how _there_ she really was. Calvin isn’t here, and he can’t stop her.

            “Okay, sure, but….” a tongue flicks out to moisten his dry lips. It’s an excuse to figure out what to say. If she were pranking him she would’ve already laughed and snidely commented, “In your dreams, Stilinski.”

            “If you want, you can get in first and close your eyes so that when _I_ get in it’s like I’m not even there.”

            Who is Stiles to argue with the logic of a future Fields Medal winner? “Okay,” he agrees before it’s too late. Not that he wanted to back out. Even as he climbs in the bed, he can’t stop the feelings of guilt from running over his shoulders. Malia wouldn’t like this, but it wasn’t like they were a couple. And this was only sleeping. Just sleeping.

            He hears her flick off the light, and he doesn’t even need to close his eyes because it’s pitch black. The shuffling sound of his comforter is beside his left ear, and then a sudden weight is added to the bed as pressure is added to his side. A waft of strawberry shampoo hits his senses as she lays her head on the pillow there.

            Stiles swallows hard as his heart beats erratically, caused only by Lydia’s close proximity. Only a few days ago they weren’t able to speak to each other in full sentences, and now they were sleeping in his bed.

            “How’s Malia?” Lydia’s voice comes from nowhere, breaking into the tired silence of the room. It moves in rhythm with his heart.

            Stiles is taken off guard by the sudden question, his mouth parted without anything coming out for a long four seconds. “I – she’s good. She’s really good.” He wonders if that was the right thing to say.

            “That’s good,” comes Lydia’s sleep laced response, her head turned away from his.

            “ _Yeah_ ,” he mumbles, further mulling over his choice of wording and if it was what she wanted to hear. He was asking himself why she even wanted to know that, especially now. His considerations are interrupted by his yawn as a haze of darkness takes over his entire being until he’s quickly pulled into a deep sleep.

That night, he dreams of eating strawberries at Allison’s grave.


	8. Fader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Last chapter before my vacation, where there’s a good chance I’ll be taking a 2-3 week hiatus from this story, as I probably won’t have the time to write. However, if I do, you can be sure that I’ll be updating. This chapter isn’t so much fun as the next one will be, but I hope you still like it.

**_Fader_ **

_Floating stranded on this boat_

_And I pledge my self allegiance_

_To a better night sleep at home_

_And the sweet sweet sun’s coming down hard_

_The sun’s coming down hard_

_It burns the bones so hold a hand for cover_

_Hold a hand for cover_

_Hold a hand for cover from harm_

_Talk don’t change a thing,_

_It’s fading fader_

-          The Temper Trap

 

Seven

 

 

            The rest of the week went by tantalizingly slow for Lydia, especially because Stiles thought he was doing her a favor by inviting Calvin to start sitting with them at lunch. She could still picture the effortful way he took him aside and told him he was sorry for not trying to get to know him better. Stiles had finally recognized his own unfiltered behavior and apologized for it, but to the one person who didn’t deserve it.

            Scott seemed really surprised to learn that news, as Stiles had never expressed any remote interesting in knowing Lydia’s new flame before. At the strawberry haired girls questioning eyes, he simply shrugged and told her to ask Stiles himself.

            She very well planned to, at least at some point during their camping trip this weekend.

            A loud laugh echoes from somewhere outside, and Lydia peers out the open window to the driveway. The pack is loading their duffel bags and backpacks into the back of Kira’s father’s minivan. He was outside making her promise to be especially careful with it, and agree that only she, Scott and Stiles would be driving. Lydia tried not feel as if that were a jab at her driving ability.

            Still Lydia had a very good feeling about this trip. Granted, she’d be without privacy for the next 48 hours and if she found herself having another anxiety attack she wouldn’t be able to lock herself behind the door of her bedroom and wait it out.

            Her attention is caught by Scott, worriedly whispering into his cell phone.

            “I just think that maybe I should skip this trip, it’s not too late to back out,” his eyebrows are rimmed, his nerves rattling him in a way that prevented him from keeping still. “We still don’t know anything about that _ball,”_ he talks like the concept is unfathomable, “- of mystical blue energy and why Allison’s body was necessary for it. What if they just dig her up again?”

            Lydia can already accurately predict that it’s Deaton he’s panicking to. She frowns for his sake. It’s clear that it is more than just the Nemeton that has Scott acting up. He doesn’t want to go because of something else. Lydia’s eyes trail toward Kira as she warily considers the reasons that might scare him away from the trip he was so adamant that they all go on. Kira was laughing with Malia, so there was no dead giveaway as to whether or not she and Scott were fighting about something.

            Lydia’s face scrunches as she realizes that the kitsune and the werewolf hadn’t had many interactions these past couple of days. She probably should’ve noticed that sooner, but her head was in so many different places lately, that she really wasn’t sure she could find her own brain. It had fallen out sometime between falling for Stiles and losing Allison. And then meeting Calvin just destroyed any piece of sanity and self-assurance she had left. Or so she believed.

            The fantasy of the rewarding camping trip that Lydia had in mind was shattered into nothing when she saw Calvin pull up to the curb. With widened eyes, she watches as Stiles offers him a wave, Kira smiling at the newcomer. Scott scowls at the group and moves further to the side of the house, covering his left ear so as to more clearly hear Deaton through the receiver.

            What the hell was Calvin doing here? Lydia can feel the palpitations in her chest burning her heart, her fingers grasping the window ledge tightly without realizing. When she asked him if he was able to get a permission slip for the trip during lunch yesterday, he said it wasn’t looking good. That was what he _told_ them. He had no reason to be here. Part of Lydia hoped that he was only hear to help load up the car and was just a little bit late, considering that Malia and Kira were putting the last bags in.

            She can see Calvin’s lips moving as he gets out of his car. He’s speaking to Stiles, but she can’t hear them clearly enough. Stiles motions forward to help the other boy pull his duffel bag out of the backseat. _Duffel_ _bag_. He was coming.

            Lydia’s heart performed a leap as she came to the paranoid conclusion that they could be talking about how she slept over Stiles’ house earlier in the week. It was only a second later that she dismissed the idea with a dismissive roll of her eyes. Why would Stiles ever reveal that?

            She feels the sudden sensation of someone touching her shoulders and gasps with a frightened jump of her body at the unexpected presence of another person. She spins around to find Stiles there, almost as taken aback as she.

            “Whoa, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” he furrows his eyebrows at her. “You seem really jumpy,” he feels it’s necessary to add, “more than usual, I mean.” The banshee was never really carefree, but she appeared shaken and pale like she’d just witnessed something damaging.

            “Did you invite Calvin!?” She doesn’t mean for the angry twinge that automatically slips into her demand.

            “What are you talking about? He was given permission to go on the trip at school today, right after lunch. They only care as far as making sure he pays the bill.” Although the trip was school sponsored, it wasn’t by any means mandatory, and the expenses came out of the pockets of the students and their parents. They had to rely on their own source of transportation, and the only positive things about the school’s involvement were the activities they could sign up for.

            “I didn’t know we were giving him a ride.”

            “ _Well it’s kind of a long trip_ ,” he says with an obvious drawl, like she should know this. “Was I not supposed to? I thought I was doing you a favor.”

            “No, no,” Lydia reaches both hands up to push her hair behind her ears. “I’m glad you did, I just wasn’t expecting it.”

            Stiles admires her movement and takes it for something it isn’t. He teasingly asks, “Afraid your hair isn’t nice enough for him to see you?”

            She’s offended at the insinuation that her _hair_ was the cause of her turmoil. But he created the lie for her. “Yeah…” she smiles at him sheepishly. “Is it that bad?”

            Without properly thinking it over, he lifts a hand toward her and brushes his fingers lightly over the top layer of soft hair he found there. He traces a straight line downward as the tips of his fingers enclose around the sleek strands and run through it soothingly. Lydia’s eyes flutter, growing calmer from his proximity, the heat of his body radiating toward hers.

            When a soft squeak escapes her lips, Stiles pulls his hand back abruptly, like her hair had burned him. The expression on his face is unreadable, mostly because he isn’t sure what is going through his own mind. He inverts his lips and hums lowly. “I’m gonna –…” he lamely gestures to the kitchen with his thumb. “Get the sandwiches in the car.” he trips over his own feet in his haste to move away from her. “Yeah, that’s… what I’ll do.”

            “ _Sandwiches?_ ” She can’t believe that’s his excuse, whether it’s true or not.

            “Yeah, you know,” he gestures with his hands with awkwardly shrugging shoulders, “Gotta contribute my part to the journey. Back to the salt mines. All work and no play. The daily grind.” he forces his stumbling legs into the kitchen with very little grace, _stopping_ himself before he’s gone too far and she truly believes he’s nothing but a spazz. As he lets his forehead fall against the refrigerator, Stiles acknowledges the fact that it’s already too late.

            Lydia stands with her mouth a gape for another second, “ _Really?_ ” she mutters to herself. It was hard to believe that this was the kind of person she ached for on a nightly basis.

            As she makes her way to the front yard she makes intense eye contact with Calvin. Scott shows up in her line of sight, approaching before the other boy can.

            “I really don’t think I can go on this trip, Lydia.”

            Lydia takes in his sweaty appearance. “Did Deaton tell you to stay?” She’s ready to call him up and give him a piece of her mind. The best thing Scott could do right now was leave town for a few days, give himself a break. Unless something supernatural occurred that would require their immediate attention, then they were going on this trip and there was no way in hell she was leaving Scott behind.

            “No, he told me to go,” he confesses with doubt sparkling in his dark eyes. “I just think… I’m more useful here.”

            “Is that the _only_ reason?”

            Scott hates that knowing glint in her eyes, it’s all too familiar. “There’s also some Kira stuff I’d like to avoid.”

            “You two need this trip, Scott. You need to talk or nothing will ever be repaired. And if there’s anything you should know how to do, it’s talk to people. You’re the personable softie, classic McCall. ” She smiles at him genuinely. “You’re a sweetheart, Scott. Don’t ever change.”

            He’s confused by her strong effort to cheer him up, but it really means a lot, especially considering their lack of real communication. “Thanks, Lydia,” he sounds just as bemused as he feels, but Lydia says nothing about that.

            “You’re welcome.”

            A honk of the minivan’s horn draws their attention. Malia has her head popped out the window, whereas Kira was the one to pull the signal. “Get a move on, we’re burning sunlight!”

            It was decided that Scott would start off driving, his girlfriend in the passenger seat beside him. Malia and Stiles were in the middle row and Lydia and Calvin were in the back. She was hoping they’d be able to snag the middle-seats, as they were not directly attached, but the other couple had gotten there first.

            “ _Roooooad triiip_!” Kira hooted, reaching over Scott to honk the horn several times in anticipation, her eagerness on full display for the rest of the group. She was practically bouncing in her seat. The car starts up, and within seconds, they’re on the road.

            Lydia scrutinizes as Stiles waggles his eyebrows at Malia, who rolls her eyes and mouths something to him that the banshee can’t read. She eyes the movement of his hand as it briefly reaches over to touch hers.

            “We haven’t talked much these past few days,” Calvin sounds off into her left ear, his cold breath tickling the side of her face.

            “I wasn’t avoiding you,” Lydia defends instantaneously. She’s worried he already has that thought in his head, and he wasn’t about to turn this pack-trip into a nightmare for her. If pretending to like him was enough to placate him, then she could pull that off.

            “I’m not a paranoid man, Lydia. I know it wasn’t personal.”

            She takes mental note of how ironic that claim is.

            “I can understand that you needed time with your friends,” his hand claps over hers, tightening over her fingers. “Just don’t do it again.”

            “I didn’t do anything,” she bites her tongue as she recognizes that it was the wrong thing to say. She attempts to backtrack, “I mean, you were with us at lunch every day. It was the only time I saw them, other than class. So I wasn’t choosing them over you.”

            “Choosing?” he whispers back fervently, insulted at the insinuation. “Who said anything about choosing?”

            She knew the reason behind her consistent word vomit was the anxiety she was feeling caused by his very presence. If she said the wrong thing, what was he going to do? He claimed to have dissembled a Ferris wheel and she was still uncertain if he had been truthful. She wasn’t about to test his limits, though.

            “I-I don’t know.” Lydia admires the way Stiles is making all of their friends laugh with his stupid jokes. Her eyes drop to the floor. It was a window to a world she wasn’t in anymore. “I’m just tired.”

            “Aw, baby,” he wraps an arm around her and tugs her toward his chest, leaning himself against the window. “You can sleep during the drive. It’s a long one.”

            Instinctively, she stiffens upon his physical reaction to her lie, her head laid against his shoulder. She wasn’t huge on PDA, especially not this early on in knowing someone. Her friends would surely find this strange.

            It’s only a moment later that Lydia’s theory is tested when Kira glances back to the rest of them, pausing from her conversation with Scott. “Oh my god, you guys look so cute!” It gains the attention of the rest of the car, and all heads are on Lydia and Calvin. Kira blushes indirectly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you guys; but, Scott, look how cute.” Her lips quirk upwards, a proud smile aimed only at Lydia. The redhead was finally moving on from her depression, and she was involved with this new guy in her life.

            Scott’s eyes briefly dart to the rearview mirror and he snorts a laugh at Lydia’s obvious discomfort.

            Lydia pulls away from Calvin using the awkwardness of their peering eyes as an acceptable excuse. She ignores Kira’s brightly lit face and the curious way Malia swallows in the scene. The only reaction to their closeness that she was interested in seeing was Stiles, so she attempts to inconspicuously focus her eyes his way, a tilt of shame still etches on her features.

            His mouth is clamped shut like he doesn’t want to say something, but he won’t even look at the pair. He blinks at the floor, then toward Malia as his mouth finally parts and they continue their conversation from before, letting the disruptive moment drop like he hadn’t witnessed a thing.

            Lydia wishes she could’ve seen his face when he turned at Kira’s attention grabbing shout. Then she pinches herself in disapproval. It’s not like it matters. He’s with Malia and she’s… with Calvin.

            “Sorry about that,” the dark-haired boy mumbles to her with a grin lifting half his face. “We’ll save the cuddling for the tent.”

            She swallows at the implication that he would be sharing a tent with her.

            “I’m sharing with the girls,” she forces out. At the way his face falls while his brows raise admonishingly, she clarifies, “That’s how it was planned. The girls share, the boys share. There are only two tents.”

            His lips tighten and he nods slowly, acceptingly. “That makes sense.”

            Lydia breathes an air of relief at his mellow reaction. It was nearly impossible to correctly predict how he might respond to any given situation. His personality fluctuated in that way.

 

They take their only rest stop about two hours into the trip, when people start complaining about grumbling stomachs and the need to urinate, particularly the girls. Before they even pulled to a full stop, Kira was launching herself out of the vehicle and running into the gas station’s shop to find a bathroom.

            “I’m going to grab some snacks, does anyone want anything?” Stiles announces as he stands, pulling open the minivan’s automatic doors.

            As Malia and Scott give the human their desired junk food, Lydia turns to Calvin. “Do you want something?”

            “Maybe some chocolate or something,” he shrugs.

            “Okay!” Lydia abruptly jolts to her feet. “I’ll come with you.”

            She can feel Calvin’s suspicious eyes on her back, but hopes he’ll let this one go. When he finally asked her about it later, she rationalized that she would just calmly explain that she wanted to pick out a nice sweet for him. It was a terrible idea, but the only thing Lydia could see was the opportunity to be alone with Stiles for three minutes. This would also be a chance to ask him about his newfound friendship with Calvin. She had a distinct feeling that she would come to regret a lot this weekend.

            Stiles’ forehead jumps in surprise at the sudden jerky movement of the redheaded firecracker. With a shrug he comments, “Makes my job easier.” he gestures toward the door with a tilt of his head, allowing her to exit first with a brisk “Gentle ladies first.”

            Some pop station is playing quietly in the store, a bad connection to a radio causing it to fizzle out every so often. It’s a pretty dirty place, but there isn’t much else you can expect from a gas station on the side of a small road off a highway. The bell above the door jingles as they enter.

            A man appears from a door of purple hanging beads, clicking together as they sway behind him. He ushers a stuffy greeting and hacks a smoker’s cough.

            “Lydia,” Stiles calls her over to the aisle of candy he’s standing at. When she’s beside him, he asks her a very important question. “Gummy bear?” He holds the open bag out to her as he tosses a handful in his mouth.

            She gasps in disbelief, “You can’t just eat it.” She snatches the bag from him. “You have to pay for it.”

            Stiles rolls his eyes at her dramatic behavior. “Lydia, relax. I’m going to pay for it before we leave.” He lowers his head to be closer to her standing height as he smugly tells her, “Most grocery stores encourage grazing, youknow.” He pops another into his mouth and swallows it down. The squishy texture rubs his throat in an uncomfortable way.

            “Stiles, we’re not _at_ a grocery store,” she declares pointedly.

            For the most part standing completely still, his jaw shifts. “Huh. You’re right.”

            “Are you kids stealin’?” The cashier moves from behind the counter, shifting his eyes between the suspicious pair. Young people were always trying to take things without permission. he rubs the back of his hand over his mustache as sniffles away his congestion.

            Stiles immediately puts two 10 fingers up to show his empty hands. “It was her.” At Lydia’s dropped jaw and the man’s glower turning on her he adds, “Kidding.”

            “You’re paying for that, yeah?”

            “We were just about to,” Lydia informs him in the sweetest and most genuine voice she can muster.

            He eyes Stiles one final time before he nods at the girl. “Yeah, okay. If you try to walk out of that door before giving me my money I’ll call the police.”

            When he’s back by the cash register, Stiles leans in from behind Lydia and whispers against the back of her ear, “God forbid he loses the two dollars a bag of gummy bears costs.”

            She stifles her laugh.

 

x-x-x

 

            Despite the quiet first half, the rest of the drive to the campsite is relatively noisy. It took time for them to grow comfortable with one another after the challenging couple of days they had. Allison was returned to her grave but she left behind a void within the group dynamic. It was like losing her all over again.

As Lydia had anticipated, Calvin came to school mystified when he heard about Allison’s body being discovered in the woods. Apparently, it was all over not only the local news, but mentioned a couple of times throughout the week on state-broadcasted channels. There was some chatter at school, but the McCall pack was thankfully left alone for the most part, though they could hear the little whispers and see the watching eyes. Lydia could still recall the way Calvin sneered at any one who dared say Allison’s name around her. It was strange how he could be so fiercely protective but then turn around and be far worse too her. He was a two-sided coin, that much was true.

After a long period of time spent blasting the radio and contest of who could belt the lyrics out the loudest, the gang spends the rest of the ride laughing about old funny stories of theirs, some when they were younger. All stories involving Allison were of course out of the question.

When they’re finally pulling up to the campgrounds, they cheer so unexcitedly that they collectively laugh at their own lack of reactions. The drive there was long and exhausting, and all they wanted to do at this point was eat and sleep. Their arrival was late, and all of their activities were set to happen tomorrow. And then on Sunday, they would have some lunch and get ready to finally leave.

Driving along the wispy dirt road, Kira, now in control of the wheel, searches for their designated camping spot. She can already see that some of their classmates have arrived, attempting to set up their tents and some having given up entirely. Others were luckier, a couple of rich kids having brought their very own trailer and smugly watching the rest of them struggle. It isn’t long before Stiles spots the rightful location to set up their tents.

            Crickets obnoxiously chirp as they work together to pull the two packaged tents out of the back of the minivan while a few of them start working on a fire. None of them were about to let their drowsiness prevent them from eating and hanging out for a little while.

            “I can’t see anything, jesus,” Kira mutters to herself.

            “Can we get a light or something?” Malia huffs, dropping a few metal bars for the tents to the dirt covered ground.

            Scott saves the day within minutes, pulling a few different sources of light from the car. “Lanterns all around!” He passes a couple around, spotlights of white illuminating small areas around the site.

            “Where are we setting up this fire?” Kira holds a bundle of wooden blocks in her arms, one dropping from her loose grip and missing her toes by an inch. Stiles is quick to collect the wood from her, smirking at her clumsy nature and gesturing toward a spot by the long logs, purposely left there for sitting. There was also a picnic table, but there was nothing camp-like about a table, and they were going to do this in the most classic way Stiles knew it to be. It had been too long since his last voyage with his father.

            Lydia isn’t sure how to help. Everyone seems so sure of what their own responsibilities are, like there was an unspoken commitment made to perform certain chores. She was left standing by the car, almost jealous of their ability to communicate with each other like a pack should. It was times like these that left her wondering if she was even still in it. Would Scott notice if she wasn’t?

            Calvin notices the anxious twitch of her leg, the way her lower lip pulsates between her sucking lips. He comes up behind her, placing a hand on her upper-back. This time she doesn’t jump at the contact, a result of her weariness. “What’s stopping you?” He bobs his head in the direction of her friends.

            “I don’t know,” she scans the way Malia scratches her head, unable to understand the concept of setting everything up. “I know how to set up a tent, it’s simple enough.” Familiar signals are sent to her brain, the memory of reading about it coming back as easily as she first flipped through the pages. “Unfold. Stake the corners, connect your tent poles. Assemble the frame.”

            “So why don’t you help the poor girl?” He chuckles lowly.

            Lydia almost feels like she would be intruding if she did. Watching them move in a sea of rhythm without her was strangely satisfying, in a painful way. It was just something she’d grown to expect, and somewhere in the predictability of it she found some kind of peace. It was consistent. And she can’t bring herself to break into something she is not part of, at least right now. “I have to get the bags.” She swivels around and climbs into the backseat, grabbing for any straps she can reach.

            It’s 45 minutes later that they’re sitting on the logs around the fire, drinking a small beer and bonding underneath the stars. The bags of candy they at the rest stop are strewn around them, open and being handed around.

            Whenever Stiles found himself stuck with another candy wrapper he’d kick some dirt over it and that would be that. Scott shook his head at the action, a small smile playing on his lips.

            Kira is studying Calvin, almost guiltily. He is definitely the odd one out, and his eerie silence is only further proving that she was right to assume he was uncomfortable. Judging by the looks Scott and Stiles were giving each other, it was not just Calvin and Kira that knew he stood out. The boys were obviously a little creeped out by his lack of interaction with the rest of them. But he was just a little awkward and shy, and Kira related to that in every sense of the words.

            “So Calvin, how are things at your new school?” Kira cuts into the private conversations happening amongst them all, unintentionally making him the center of attention; the complete opposite of what she meant to do. She hopes he can see the apology in her eyes.

            “They’re good,” he shuffles in his seat, scanning the many faces in a circle around the crackling fire. “Uh, they’re actually really good. Thanks.”

            “How do you like your teachers? Do you like Mr. Binski?”

            “Yeah, he’s a funny guy.” He doesn’t mind small talk so much when he has to put up with it for Lydia when they’re at lunch with her obnoxious friends, but now he was spending two nights with them. It was a different situation entirely, and he was a bit angry with Lydia for making him go on this trip. She’d practically begged him, and if it weren’t for those big sad eyes, he would’ve told her to forget about it.

Lydia’s heart skips when she notices that he’s intensely glowering at her, sitting only inches away.

When the pause of silence lasts too long, Calvin finally realizes his physical reaction to his angry thoughts and averts his eyes, ignoring the confused scrunching eyebrows of Stiles and Scott. He hated the way they looked at each other whenever they were mocking him. A silent joke that no one else could see. A way to bully him without Lydia knowing. It was _low_ and **_immature_** _and_ … Calvin takes a deep breath and unclenches his fists. He’s becoming sweaty as the red mist of frustration settles over his shoulders. He has to breathe or he’s going to lose it. Placing shaking hands on his legs, Calvin shudders.

“Calvin?” Scott’s eyebrows lower in that puppy-dog way that they do, concern and a willingness to listen in the way he carried himself. “Are you alright man?”

His eyes focus intensely on the dirt covered ground for another long seven seconds, all of them waiting for him to react. And then the redness of his face pales, and he calms down. His head turns up to face them all; his eyes bright and friendly like the last few minutes had been erased.

“I’m just tired is all,” he smiles broadly. “We should do something fun.”

Even the grinding of _Malia_ ’s mind is reeled in confusion. She wasn’t the best at learning societal norms, but she was pretty sure that Calvin had just done something strange. He smelled so infuriated, and then in a shift of the atmosphere he was happy. Nonetheless a light bulb goes off in her head. “We can play a game. I know a game!” She raises an enthusiastic hand, waiting to be called on like in school.

Stiles’ friends look to him. With an awkward scratch of the back of his head, he slaps a hand on his knee and calls on her, playing the role of a teacher, “Ah, Malia?”

“There’s this game that I love…” her voice drops to a whisper. “It’s one that I used to play with my family when I was just a little human.”

She finds some minimal comfort in the way Stiles offers her a soft sad smile and reaches out to lightly touch his finger pads against the soft tan surface of the back of her hand.

Whether it’s for Malia and her somber note of nostalgia or the sake of fun, everyone agrees to play.

Before even explaining the rules, she and Scott are decided to be team captains took turns choosing team members. Once Kira was (of course) first to join Scott’s, Malia picked Stiles and eventually ended up with Calvin on her team after Scott nabbed Lydia.

“So my dad and I would call this game the listeners test,” Malia explains, her excitement returning at being able to share this very personal game with her pack.

“Sounds like a social experiment,” Stiles jokes.

“No interrupting,” Malia growls. He was always telling her that interrupting was against the human rules, and other people never seemed to grasp that concept. It was a two-way street. “Anyways, this game kind of puts your friendship to the test and determines how well we know each other; or at least, the people on the opposite team when it’s their turn.”

“So why is it called the listeners test?” Stiles queries with a tilt of his head. He wasn’t trying to be annoying, but it was kind of funny to watch her cheeks puff up in frustration.

“Because it’s about how well you listen to the people around you.”

“Wait a minute,” Stiles points a finger at the air. “You said it was about friendship.”

Malia blinks at him. “Stiles, even I know that friendship is about listening to what other people have to say when it’s their turn to talk. Isn’t that the human thing to do?”

Lydia raises her eyebrows at her very mature way of thinking. It was almost like she’d surpassed Stiles on her ability to be a person.

“Yeah, I knew that,” Stiles backtracks, nodding a head at his friends. “I got your backs.”

Kira rolls her eyes and demands, “Let’s get this started! Who goes first?”

Lydia decides to be helpful and says, “I can keep score on my phone.”

“I guess I’ll just not play your little game,” Calvin chimes up, irritation at being left out clear in his edgy tone. The chirping of crickets is once again the loudest thing while everyone remains unsure of what to say to that.

“Oh, sorry, Calvin,” Kira is first to speak up, her eyes shifting nervously away from her boyfriend. “We didn’t realize that you might not know that much about us,” her concern turns to a smile as her usual social awkwardness turns to a flow of reassurance. “But now’s your chance to learn! You can just guess, it’s a group effort anyway.”

He reluctantly agrees. “Okay.”

Malia is first on the spotlight, and it is up to Scott, Kira and Lydia to correctly guess answers to questions they should already know about her. It would probably be a little easier for Scott and Kira than Lydia, as they’d been going out for weekly lunches with her for the past month without her even knowing. Yes, that was cut was still deeply fresh in her mind.

            Stiles has a smug look on his face. “You guys are never gonna get this. Who’s Malia’s favorite superhero?”

            The time limit begins counting down and they have to make three guesses before it’s up.

            “Uhh, uhh,” Kira smacks her hands together. “You told me this one time.”

            Malia nods at a quick pace. “Uhuh, _and I said_ …?”

            Scott looks to Lydia, who sends him the most animated shrug she’s ever seen, one that said it should be most obvious that she wouldn’t know the answer to that. She barely bothered getting to know the girl in the first place, just as Malia hadn’t made much of an effort either.

            “Wonder woman?” Scott tries hastily.

            “No you idiot,” Kira smacks his shoulder. “Consult us before you make stupid guesses.”

            “Ten seconds,” Stiles warns.

            “Supergirl!” The kitsune calls, bouncing in her seat on the log. “You said she was underrated and amazing for going through a lot of tough shit and still being a perky blonde hottie.”

            Proud of her only female friend, Malia motions for an air hug, something Kira taught her two weeks into their friendship when she was leaving her house and forgot to say goodbye. She thought it was cute and trendy and had been doing it with only her ever since. It had kind of become their thing.

            “One point to team Scolydlia,” Stiles sighs.

            “What’s Malia’s favorite food as of last week?” The question was unfair because her favorite food was changing on a bi-weekly basis.

            “She really loves chocolate milk right now,” Kira answers.

            “Chocolate milk is not food. Do you chew chocolate milk? Nope, I don’t think so,” Stiles flutters his eyelashes at her upon the annoyed twinkle she held in her gaze.

            “Uh, burritos?” Kira tries again. “You’ve been eating a lot of burritos.”

            Malia rolls her eyes, disinterested. “Burritos were two weeks ago.”

            Lydia’s excellent memory tells her that Malia has been eating nachos every day this week. She knows that because she’d gotten cheese on Lydia’s clothing at least 3 out of the 4 times she had it and when she tried to say something about it Stiles hushed her and told her she was still learning.

            “Five sec-

            “Nachos,” Lydia briskly intercedes Stiles’ warning of time.

            Malia’s face scrunches before the surprise takes over her features. “Wow… that’s actually right.”

“ _Two points for Scolydlia_ ,” Stiles points out with mock-attitude, childishly sticks his tongue out at Lydia at the pleased way she marked it into her phone, swiftly swiping her finger across the screen.

The banshee glances up at him and her cheeks grow burning hot, his gaze and joking expression making a nervous giggle bubble close to the surface. She pushes it down, because she is not that type of girl. She was the aggressor. Or at least she used to be.

He admires her swollen red cheeks and his eyes sparkle at the effect he has on her right now, for whatever reason it may be. To make her squirm just a little bit more, he sends her a knowing wink. An opportunity to make Lydia outwardly react to him in a way that made him feel incredibly manly was probably never going to come up again.

Lydia actually has to physically turn her head away, humiliated at her reaction to his stupid teasing, and even more by his ability to see it. The only thing that could make her hate herself more was replaying the image of him winking at her over and over again in her head. Not only was it annoying and rude and so very _him,_ but really damn cute.

Stiles laughs to himself.

When it’s finally Lydia’s turn, Stiles is thrilled about getting a chance to prove his massive amounts of pointless Lydia information. The only bad thing about this game was that they weren’t going to ask the important stuff, like the way her dimples curved when she smiled or how she secretly loved Star Wars when he first made her watch it. It was something she would only share with him, and he still remembered the way she physically applauded George Lucas’ creativity when the end credits came and babbled about how the movie must’ve completely revolutionized special effects in its time, how she wished she could’ve been alive to see it in theatres and watch the magic unfold. He remembered wanting to kiss her so badly, but pressing his own lips together instead, just until he was sure he could resist the urge. All the while she, oblivious to his inner struggle, continued her little speech about how Star Wars represented the cyclical clash that was good versus evil.

Stiles swallowed hard at the lump of emotion forming in his throat, simply from bring back an old memory.

“First question,” Scott studied the opposing team; Malia, Stiles and Calvin. He was very aware of the fact that his own team was probably going to be winning this game. “What kind of shampoo does Lydia use?”

“How the heck are we supposed to know that?” Malia groans, crossing her arms. It was obvious to her that they were just giving them more difficult questions because they were afraid of losing.

“Suave strawberry,” Stiles and Calvin answer in complete unison.

As they turn, both equally stunned by the other’s answer, they warily glimpse at each other.

Lydia’s head slowly lifts, casting haunting eyes at Calvin. It was strange though not impossible for Stiles to know that about her. It could have come up in conversation at some point; he could have seen it in her bathroom. The brighter eyed participant in this little competition had never been to her house, not even once.

Stiles is just as taken aback. “How do _you_ know?” He supposes that it’s likely Calvin’s seen her shampoo bottle before. It’s not even that big of a deal, yet somehow, it still bothers him. Every time Calvin opens his mouth, he says something with an underlying double meaning, and Stiles can’t help but correlate that to every statement he now made.  Stiles wanted to be this guy’s friend, but his entire personality came with a blaring warning sign that Stiles doesn’t understand; it’s like he’s missing several pieces of a very large and complicated puzzle.

“I’m her boyfriend.” His tone indicates that this is something he should already know, though the flicker of surprise over the faces lighting the dark woods were disproving that.

“Next question,” Kira blurts out, desperate to stop any sort of drama from forming. The suspicious way Calvin’s eyes raked over Stiles’ face was unsettling. No one had anything to hide, but everyone had a hard time trusting. That was when she remembered Allison’s purple sweater, otherwise known as Scott’s best kept secret. What did she know about what they could be hiding if she didn’t know her own boyfriend’s habits? Absolutely nothing. “Scott.”

The sound of his name on Kira’s lips takes him out of his distracted gaze. He snaps out of it quickly, spotting the worried wrinkle of Kira’s chin and continuing the swing of things. “Right,” he clears his throat to draw the attention of the remainder of the group.

Lydia pushes all concerns about Calvin being in her room to the farthest corner of her mind, because she can’t think about that right now.

“What stuffed animal does Lydia think she secretly sleeps with sometimes?”

“It _was_ a secret until you just opened your mouth,” Lydia growls, tightening her arms around her body as the wind picks up.

“Actually we all knew that,” Malia points out.

“Yeah, and it’s Mr. Hijinks,” Stiles winks at Lydia from across the fire. He was the only one who knew its name.

“It’s a stuffed pig, right?”

Calvin’s question takes Lydia off guard and she almost forgets to respond as her shock overwhelms her. An unsettling knot forms in the middle of her stomach as she tries to calmly tell herself that someone probably told him that. A hint of a smile makes its way onto her face as she meekly nods her head. “Yeah,” she whispers, unintentionally husky.

Something akin to recognition flares in Calvin’s eyes, and Lydia assumes that he realizes he slipped up on knowing such personal information, because he has a sudden shakiness about him. His leg is restless and his lips are twitching. “I think I’m gonna head off to bed,” he declares, shooting up to his feet as soon as the words are out.

“In the middle of the game?” Malia’s lower lip juts out as she decides that she doesn’t like this new guy. She inwardly hopes that he isn’t going to be joining their pack anytime soon, but keeps that thought to herself. She’ll tell Stiles later, and he’ll reassure her that there was no way this boy with an overemotional “cater to me” persona was going to be hanging out with them on a regular basis. He was already stealing French fries from her like they were some kind of buddies. Just because he helped her with the menu at the fair.

“He’s probably right,” Kira bashfully agrees. She doesn’t want this trip to take a turn for the worse before it goes right, and she’s eager to get away from Scott. He’s giving off a “don’t talk to me” vibe that she wants no part of. It still isn’t the right time to bring up his special drawer for Allison’s sweater, and the air is still awkward between them. The stare Scott is now giving her is disbelieving, but his arm drops to his knee in resignation.

“Fine,” he puts it simply. “We can pick this up tomorrow.”

“What’s planned?” Malia is ready to get a taste of wilderness. There was something that felt almost home-like about being surrounded by the smell of pine needle and wildlife.

“During the day it’s kind of whatever we want, but at night we’re drinking at the lake and then kayaking.”

“Drunk kayaking?” Kira’s nose wrinkles. “Is that a good idea?”

“We’ll sober up first,” he answers without looking at her. Her heart jumps in paranoia at what that could imply.

Within the next few minutes everyone is unpacking their things and setting up their blankets in the tents, taking last minute bathroom breaks, changing their clothes and brushing their teeth. The walk to the public restrooms was only a couple of minutes, but some didn’t even bother with the trip.

Lydia was sitting the girls’ tent by herself, a hefty suitcase in front of her. She isn’t sure what she’s going to wear, as she hadn’t exactly planned ahead with what type of pajamas she was going to need. She hadn’t considered the fact that in the woods at night she couldn’t be curled up in the blankets in lingerie. Unzipping the suitcase makes a low whirring noise in the quiet air of the tent, and she begins shuffling through the clothing she brought with her. She huffs in frustration. She was so unorganized and messy these past few weeks.

A familiar pair of hands appear inside of the tent as they pull the opening wider to fit their large body inside. A hunched over Stiles climbs in and moves to his knees beside her, raising a pair of well-groomed eyebrows at her in greeting.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Lydia cautiously tucks a curl behind her ear, not ending her search as her hands dive into the mix of cotton and cashmere.

“I’m looking for Malia.”

The way his eyes are studying hers is setting her on edge. Her own eyes flicker around the tiny tent and then she plainly says, “She’s not here.” There was something wrong with him if he couldn’t tell.

Stiles rolls his eyes at the careful way she regards him as if he’s lost his mind. “Yeah, I can see that,” he drawls. “I’m going to wait here for her,” his eyes narrow. “I mean, if that’s okay with you…” he gestures with a hand expectantly, awaiting either a confirmation to stay or to be kicked out.

            “Sure, what do I care?” She shrugs flippantly.

Then his forehead creases and a moment of confusion is replaced by a perplexed expression, his ears jumping as recognition lightens his honey eyes.

“…What?” Lydia’s hands still in her suitcase.

Stiles places a finger to his lips before using that same finger to point uncertainly at something in her bag. “Isn’t that my shirt?”

She knows what shirt it is before she even looks. It’s the one he let her wear when she slept over his house earlier in the week. Packing it with her had been a complete accident, but her subconscious may have been trying to tell her something.

“I don’t know,” she squeaks. No, she is a more confident person than this. So she sucks down a breath of cold air and lifts her chin at him bravely. “Does it look like your shirt?”

He moves forward to take it out of her bag, but stops mid-way. Once her eyes roll and she gestures toward it in a way that granted permission, he finally picks it up, running his thumbs over the material.

“Yep, definitely mine.” His eyes flick toward her thoughtfully. “Why did you bring it?”

“So that I could give it back to you, why else?” She bites down on the inside of her cheeks and hopes he can’t detect her lie.

The corners of his lips quirk upwards. “ _Liar_ ,” he teases jubilantly, poking her knee playfully.

“Shut up,” she pulls her leg away, ice lining underneath her voice.

Stiles’ mouth drops. “Whoa, I’m only kidding around.”

“You’re not funny.” Her shoulders sag. “I need to find pajamas and go to sleep maybe you can just wait for Malia _outside_ of the tent.” Her tongue presses against the roof of her mouth to prevent from taking it back and asking him to stay.

“You can wear it if you want,” Stiles nods at the shirt folded and placed on the ground between them.

“Take it with you,” she tosses the thing at his chest and he catches it in his hand before it drops into his lap.

His lips set in a thin line and his grip on the shirt tightens. It was abuse he’d usually never show to his favorite shirt, but the times Lydia upset him were special circumstances.

Stiles kicks the dirt as he exits the tent, grumbling to himself. She’s lucky he even let her wear it in the first place, she’s even more lucky that he’d offer it to her again. He wouldn’t even let Scott wear the stupid thing any time he needed to borrow clothes in the past. It seemed unimportant and minor, but it was one of the last things his mom bought him and the fact that it was unbelievably soft certainly helped.

Within fifteen minutes, Lydia’s misery is interrupted by Malia’s entrance. She mutters to her that Stiles had been looking for her.

“He already found me, thanks,” Malia answers as she undresses. “Why are you still in your jacket?”

“I don’t have anything to sleep in,” Lydia tells her, not expecting any sympathy.

“I guess you can borrow one of Stiles’ shirts,” Malia reluctantly suggests, pulling two shirts out of her duffel bag that were too large to be her own.

Lydia tried not to let the fact that Malia kept some of Stiles’ shirts get to her. The one thing she couldn’t stop was the way her eyes rolled. Of fucking course she would end up in Stiles’ clothing anyway. It always came back to him.

“You can have the black one, it’s really rough and my skin is too soft for that.”

While accepting the shirt, Lydia wonders whether Malia realizes she just indirectly insulted her and removes her own clothing.

“Stiles has the warmest clothes,” the werecoyote continues to obliviously torture the strawberry haired banshee, speaking about the human boy as if he were already her boyfriend. “Every time I sleep over he lets me wear them.”

Lydia swallows. When she was staying at Stiles’ house she had brought up the idea that Malia had slept in Stiles’ bed, but he didn’t answer one way or the other. Now she was confirming the intrusive images that were undoubtedly going to plague her thoughts and keep her awake all night, that, along with other things…

“Lydia,” Malia gasps audibly, dark eyes widening.

Lydia blinks at the girl, pulled out of her own thoughts by the girls surprising reaction to seeing her in her underwear. Was Malia about to insult her again? What was wrong now, were her breasts uneven; did she have some kind of imperfection that Malia was about to claim was fantastic about herself? She was proving to be good at that thus far.

“What happened to your legs?”

Lydia looks down, and sure enough, the spots that were once scratches on her thigh are now purple and bruised in the shape of someone’s fingers that had been too harshly pressed against delicate skin. She hadn’t noticed that it had begun to bruise and wondered when it started. It seemed a bit late to just finally be showing.

“I…” she gives Malia a once over. “That’s none of your business, Malia,” she informs bluntly, ignoring the pang of guilt as she pulls the black shirt over her head, Stiles’ smell clinging to her instantly. It almost physically hurts.

Malia’s eyes squint at her, but she bobs her head. “You’re right,” she mumbles, surrounding herself with pillows as she moves herself into a comfortable position on the floor and flicks out her lantern.

Lydia is thankful that Kira shows up second later, though she’s just as unhappy as Lydia. She doesn’t even say anything to either of the girls as she climbs into bed without even changing out of her jeans. It isn’t until Malia’s snoring quietly that Lydia scoots her pillow closer to Kira’s and whispers,

“Is everything alright?”

Kira can hear the other girl’s concern from behind her, but she closes her eyes lightly and feigns sleep.

Lydia lifts her head to admire Kira’s face, but she sighs when she sees she’s already dead weight, much like Malia. Only Kira is faking it and Lydia’s not stupid. But she isn’t going to force her into something she doesn’t want to talk about. She drops her head back down to the pillow and crosses off another person on the mental list of people that have closed themselves off from the rest of the world.


	9. Lost

 

_**Lost** _

_There’s no angels here, just a sun to light the way_

_To places where my friends turn to strangers_

_Mmm, My lover, on a long long empty road_

_Mmm, Sweet lover,_

_I got lost_

\- VAST

 

Eight

It was the rustling of leaves outside and the slow unzipping of the tent that roused Lydia back to the conscious realm of awareness. She groaned lightly at the disturbance and clicked on the screen of her cell phone to check what time it was.

Half past 4 A.M?

She lifts her head to assure that both girls are still in the tent and one wasn’t simply returning from a bathroom break. They were fast asleep, Malia snoring lowly while Kira tossed and turned in a fit, like she was having a hard time resting comfortably on the ground. It was likely that there were more than a few sticks poking her in the back. The pain in the crook of Lydia’s shoulder was evidence that the kitsune wasn’t the only one.

As the late night intruder finally makes his presence known, he carefully climbs inside as to not wake the dozing supernaturals.

Lydia bolts upward, prepared to fend off a curious pervert or maybe even a grizzly bear with motor skills decent enough to unzip a tent. She is, however, not prepared to deal with the person that was crouched over in front of her.

“Oh, jesus!” Stiles staggers back and nearly falls, clutching his chest with a pained expression. “You scared the shit out of me,” he hisses.

“You?” she quips, “I scared you? I thought someone was breaking in.”

“Yeah, me!” He whisper-shouts, poking himself hard in the chest and still reeling from the fright she gave him.

The banshee makes an animal-like sound as she growls at him, her lips lifted in a snarl. Stiles had no right to be annoyed with her when he was the one suspiciously sneaking into their tent before the sun had even risen.

“What are you even doing here?” Lydia asks quietly, perturbed that he would interrupt her slumber, one of the few times she had actually been successful in falling asleep within a reasonable amount of time.

“I…” his eyes trail toward Malia.

Lydia is sour and unable to hide it, sucking the inside of her cheeks into her mouth and pursing her lips. “Hm,” she tilts her head at him. “You woke me up so you could have a late night tussle in the woods with your -” she gestures wildly with her hands, unable to find the term but still visibly disgusted by it.

“...My friend.” he finishes when she doesn’t.

“Yeah,” she scoffs. “You’re real friends with the way you two suck face like a couple of necking…” she narrows her eyes. “Neckers!” Lydia isn’t sure how she’s managing to keep her voice hushed, but she's glad the other girls haven’t woken up yet. The situation would probably look somewhat odd from their perspective, and even when Stiles was pissing her off, she still somehow wanted their alone time to last as long as possible. It was strange, feeling this way. It was like no other feeling. She remembered how she used to fight with Jackson so often, and how being around him set her on edge, especially toward the end of their relationship. He was an aggressive guy and he liked to feel like he was in control, similar to Calvin in a couple of disturbing ways. Stiles was nothing like that. He was her equal.

“Close friends,” Stiles defends, gaze lingering on Malia. He licks his dry lips and returns to look at Lydia. His heart jumps at the sight of her, pouty pink lips in their natural shade, a more common sight these days. Her hair is tossed and frizzy, elongated as it runs a few inches past her bosom.

Lydia can see that he’s sizing her up and almost appreciates it, but she’s currently too annoyed by his existence to enjoy it.

His eyes grow large for a split second before returning to their normal size, biting on his lip to prevent a smirk from forming. It doesn’t help.

She opens her mouth to ask him why he’s looking at her like that, but she catches his line of sight, her own eyes lowering to her clothing. Shit. She’s still wearing the shirt Malia lended her. His shirt.

“Uhhh,” he starts off, just to be shushed by Lydia.

“Don’t. Say. Anything.” Humiliation courses through her veins and heats her face.

“Okay,” Stiles nods slowly, though the shot of pleasure that ran through him at seeing her in nothing but one of his shirts again was something to be considered later. In the past couple of weeks he’d given Malia a few of his sweaters and t-shirts after accidentally doing it the first time. When he finally got to see her in one and saw how happy it made her to feel connected to him in that way, he started giving her more, just for the content smile she would offer him when he handed them over. He was well aware that the black shirt Lydia was wearing was one of those gifts to Malia, probably the most recent one. He remembered that she complained about its rough texture. ”Can I ask why?”

Lydia huffs at his incessant need for answers but complies, “I had nothing to wear so Malia let me use this.” her eyes sharpen. “Is that a problem?”

“No…” Stiles blinks at her. “I told you you could wear my shirt last night but you threw it at me and made me leave.” There’s a hint of aggression there, but it vanishes as his tone plunges in volume “But you should keep it, it looks good on you.”

“It was only a couple of hours ago you can’t call it ‘last night’ when you’re popping in here in the wee hours of the morning. Have you no manners?”

“You were supposed -” Kira begins to stir, so he stops intermittently then lowers his voice “ - Supposed to be sleeping,” he shoots back.

“And I was until you showed up,” the exhausted young woman retorts. She’s tense now, her arms crossed over her bust in a dominant stance. At the unhappy twitch of his lips, she sighs. “Look, just grab your girlfriend or your gal pal or whatever the hell she is to you and be on your way.” She pulls the blanket back over her form, dropping her head back to the pillow with a forceful clunk. She’s determined not to give into her heart’s desires, because they’re far more illogical than the thoughts in her brain, though sometimes the they get clouded and mixed and hard to differentiate.

Stiles wants to say something more, Lydia can tell by the way he pauses, running a hand along his smooth chin as an exasperated breath of air leaves his moistened lips. Eventually, he gives up on his rambling thoughts and instead climbs out of the tent, not even bothering to haul Malia out with him. She continues to sleep soundly just a few feet away from Lydia. The fact that he didn’t bring the werecoyote with him almost hurts her more than if he had.

x-x-x

When Lydia wakes up for a second time, it isn’t Stiles’ fault. The sun has risen now and there is laughter somewhere in the distance, but she can’t tell who it is or if it’s someone in the pack. After changing into a comfortable dress and fixing up a light amount of makeup, she forces sore legs out of the tent. Her entire body aches from the uncomfortable way she slept and she could swear the imprints of small pebbles and rocks were leaving her back spotted like a dalmation.

She feels arms weave around her and pull her against a firm chest. Yelping in surprise, Lydia spins around in the embrace to see Calvin and his big smile. She swallows hard and forces a matching expression.

“You’re finally up,” he comments sweetly, leaning in to kiss her.

Panic burbles up inside of her and Lydia nearly jumps out of her skin trying to get away, falling backwards onto her bottom and landing in a pile of crunchy leaves and dirt. He wasn’t going to be pleased with her, and she was almost afraid to look up at his face.

“I… have to take a shower.”

His gaze is heavy on her. “You’re already dressed,” Calvin says frankly, extending a hand downward to help her up. She reluctantly accepts it, allowing him to tug her back to her feet. “And if hygiene is what you’re worried about, planting yourself onto the dirt is probably not a good idea.” He doesn’t believe her, and it’s evident in the way he regards her with a clenched jaw, the extraocular muscles of his eyes tightening sternly.

“Well I didn’t want to walk to the bathroom in my underwear,” she declares righteously, brushing at the skirt of her dress to clean it off, an excuse to keep her shaking hands busy.

“Mmm,” She can’t tell if his humming is in agreement or suspicion. “I guess I’ll see you after your shower then,” his voice is strained, like he’s holding back. “I’ll be awkwardly hanging out with your friends in the meantime.”

Lydia can’t hold her tongue. “Why do you say it like that?”

He chortles rudely, “It’s not that hard to see, Lydia. They’re not very good friends, if they were, they wouldn’t be so oblivious to how hard it’s been for you since you lost your friend, especially since some freak took her out of her grave and left her on a tree stump in the goddamn woods.”

Her mouth clamps shut as he reaches out to run cold fingers over her jaw, leaving behind a trail of chills that left her nerves rattling, aching to be as far away from him as physically possible. Her body was reacting the same as her thoughts, her heart irregular and her chest twisting painfully. She would think it were a heart attack had she not known the symptoms of one.

“Lydia Martin at a loss for words?” his tongue flicks out, caught between his teeth as he critically inspects her, his eyes judgmental as they scope her up and down. “I think that’s the first time you’ve had nothing to say. Is it because you know I’m right?”

“You’re not right,” she whispers, yet her voice remains firm and steady as her eyes burn into his. As the days wore on, his claims to hurt the people she loved grew more disbelieving. If she wanted to walk away from this she could; it would be so easy. If it weren’t for that tiny spark of fear that he was telling the truth, she would have left after the first time he showed his true colors.

“What?” he’s taken aback by her defensive posture and words, his brows raised high like they were carrying the weight of a feather. “What did you say?”

Her eyes scan the campsite, searching for a face. He won’t try to frighten her if there is someone present. But they’re seemingly alone.

She ignores the cramp in her chest as her heart increases its pace, slamming against her ribcage at the confrontation she was faced with. “I came here to get my mind off of… “ she shifts her weight from one foot to the other as she forces herself to finish what she started “Allison… and have a good time with my friends. You standing here and trying to scare me is not only superfluous but also completely absurd that you think I’d keep taking this from you.”

Calvin’s hand wraps around her upper-arm faster than she can blink, yanking her closer to him with fire blazing intensely in his eyes and only spreading throughout his body as he tightens his hard grip, a snarl on his lips. His voice declines warningly as he roughly starts up, “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, little girl?”

“Let me go,” she mutters through a clenched jaw and gritting teeth, her gaze steady and unwavering. She refuses to be weak. She is not a victim. Her free hand flies up to press a flat palm against his chest in a frail attempt to thrust him back, or at the very least create some distance between them.

“Shut up, you wretched little witch.” Calvin’s other hand smacks away the feminine one on his chest, encircling the dainty wrist he found there and twisting it back, farther and farther until Lydia cries out. Then he stops. “I know what you’re doing, you don’t think I know? Hm?” his nostrils flare dangerously. “You don’t think I see how your friends look at me, how they laugh to each other about what an idiot I am behind my back?”

“They don’t do that, now let me go!”

“I know you’re part of it, and it’s going to stop. You and they are going to stop or I’m going to stick a very sharp knife in one of their bellies, I’m going to hear them squeal like a pig and then when I’ve had my fun, I’ll end his or her life. Got it?”

Lydia didn’t even know tears were streaming down her cheeks, not until they dropped from the edge of her chin and splattered onto the neckline of her dress, leaving her neck feeling wet and her vision blurry, the sight of Calvin and his fury askew. “Okay... okay, just stop,” she cries, desperately trying to tug herself away from his harsh grip. When he finally releases her, it’s so sudden that Lydia stumbles back flailing, landing on her ass as she had before. But this time he leaves her there to soak in her despair.

 

Lydia’s a sobbing wreck as she makes the five minute walk to the bathroom, though it takes her almost ten in her desolate state, her arms protectively wrapped around herself in a barrier of safety. It does nothing to make her feel safer, she’ll never feel safe ever again. She hasn’t in so long. She wants Stiles; she wants Scott. God, she wants Allison. She wants her inner circle of friends to be united and close again, her second family. No. Her first family, her only real family. Even though her mother loved her, she was almost never home, and she hadn’t seen her father in over a month. It was something she’d expected from the start of the divorce, but never like this.

She’s managed to brush away any remaining evidence of her tears, or at least the runniness that was her face. She’s still a combination of pink and red and flushed all over, but she’s worse for wear inside than what she’s displaying on her exterior. Her heart stings more than her veiny red eyes if that were even possible and where her cheeks are blush pink and colored on the outside, they’re chewed and sore in her mouth.

She moves past the restrooms and to the building especially for showers, able to hear the sound of running water before she even enters. A cloud of steam hits the banshee as she walks through the tiled opening, running her nails along the walls as she makes her way inside, a painful ceasing stuck in her chest. She could only hope it wasn’t a permanent scar, one of the many new ones that had formed since the death of her best friend. If she takes a shower, she’ll calm down.

Her mother used to tell her that every time she has a particularly rough day, she should either take a shower or go to sleep. Things were always brighter the next day. Unfortunately, her morning had just begun, and it had only been an hour since she woke up.

Upon reaching the room of shower stalls, she finds that every single one is taken. Of course it is. Thankfully, there were two. When she finally reaches the second, she smacks right into a hard and very bare chest, slamming so abruptly into them that she almost topples onto the ground for the third time that day. Two large hands reach out to her shoulders and steady her.

Once the mist of steam clears, she’s able to put a face to the helpful gesture.

“Lydia?”

It’s Stiles. Why wouldn’t it be Stiles? That’s when she realizes that it’s Stiles and he’s in a towel. But it doesn’t even matter, and she can’t even appreciate the sight, because the moment she sees that it’s him, she bursts into a fit of tears. Humiliation takes hold and she covers her eyes with her hands.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” he slightly bends his knees to get a closer look at her face, tilting her head up toward his and pulling her hands back to reveal a sniffling strawberry haired banshee. His hands are firm yet gentle where they cradle her jaw, a strange but vast and welcome difference from Calvin’s unkind touch. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

Her lower lip wobbles as she tries to stop the onslaught of tears breaking to the surface, her eyes anywhere but on him as she takes a quick breath of air. “Calvin and I had an argument.” It wasn’t too far from the truth, and judging by how his eyes lighten in cognizance, he’s completely fallen for it.

A trickle of water runs over Stiles shoulder and he removes his hands from her face to tighten the terry cloth around his waist as he’s hit by a breeze of cold air, ringlets of hair dripping liquid onto the tile below his bare feet that were pressed against the chilled floor. His icy hands run soothingly up and down her arms, his lips lowered in a pout. “What was it about?” The sound of running shower water seeds through his question, having to heighten the volume of his tone just to be heard.

With a brisk shake of her head her eyes lower to his chest just to avoid his honey speckled admiration, sweetly laced with solicitude. She watches the muscles of his chest involuntarily flex at her gawking.

Stiles clears his throat to recapture her attention, his adam's apple bobbing as he nervously swallows at their proximity and his lack of any type of clothing at all. The veins at the surface of the back of his hands outline as he clutches onto the material covering his more intimate areas. Not that Lydia Martin checking him out wasn’t intimate. It might even be something worth commenting on if she wasn’t crying and he wasn’t inwardly freaking out.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” He finally asks. “I just need to put some clothes on, and then we can go wherever you want.”

She intently stares at him, saying nothing. When his eyebrows finally knit together and he worriedly says her name, Lydia feels inclined to answer. “I want to take a shower,” she says slowly, like her head is somewhere else.

“Well then you’re in the right place?” His voice raises higher at the end, like he’s asking instead of telling. He’s still tied up in knots, uneasy about leaving Lydia here despite her telling him that it was what she wanted. She wasn’t in a right state of mind, that much was clear to him. It was as if she was in some kind of daze, like she hadn’t really woken up yet. Had the argument affected her that much?

Stiles feels the beginning stirrings of jealousy swirling low in his stomach and immediately hates himself for it. He can’t feel that way, not when she’s this upset and especially not when he has no right to feel that way about someone he isn’t even involved with.

When she fails to respond once again, Stiles bows his head at her. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Lydia blinks at him. She didn’t remember ever telling him that she was okay, but it wasn’t like she’d be honest about it if he had. “I just need to clear my head under some hot water, that’s all.” She gives him a tight-lipped smile.

Stiles doesn’t want to leave her in this condition, but there isn’t much he can do right now. He’s naked and cold and she wants to be alone, so he respects that and grabs his pile of clothing sloppily folded in the corner and offers one longing stare at her back before he leaves her to her inner thoughts.

x-x-x

It isn’t until they’re preparing lunch by the fire that Lydia returns to the campsite, and the unsettling nausea collects in a tight knot in the pit of her belly before she even sees them. Scott rushes at her in a brush of wind.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“I was taking a shower,” she grunts with crossed arms. Lydia peers behind him to see that the rest of the group is staring at her, along with Calvin, who is seated by himself with his mouth stilled on a chicken kabob from the moment he saw her.

“For three hours?”

Lydia grits her teeth together in aggravation, her chin wrinkling as she inverts her lips. “I got a little lost, alright?” Her excuse was flimsy at best, but thinking on her feet when she was already having a difficult day was not something she was great at. She used to be, but not anymore. It was like she was getting weaker and weaker, like she was drowning and couldn’t find the surface. She really was lost, but not in the the thick of the woods. In her own enigmatic mind.

“You could’ve called me.” Scott indicates with scrutiny that he does not find her alibi credible. After a hefty sigh and wafting fingers through his thick head of dark hair his tense body softens, only allayed that Lydia was back; safe and sound. “It doesn’t even matter.. Are you hungry?”

She’s pleased that he doesn’t further weigh her down with questions, because she’s not in the mood to fight him on it. The thought of eating only makes her feel sicker. “No, I’m fine.”

Scott’s eyebrows furrow uneasily. “Are you sure? We only munched for breakfast and you kind of missed that, too.”

“I’m not hungry,” she insists sharply, only allowing herself to feel culpable when he faintly accepts her echo and returns to his spot on the log beside Kira. Shakily approaching her friends, she collapses onto the spot beside Stiles and chooses to overlook the curious glances, along with the whispering of Malia asking Stiles why she wasn’t sitting with Calvin and Stiles quickly hushing her.

Said boy shifts to his left, asking Lydia a silent question with his eyes to confirm that she’s alright. Her lips quirk up in a forced smile that he’s obliged to return, though his is as temporary and fake as hers. Lydia speculates on whether or not he can distinguish the difference between her strained happiness and the authentic kind. She catches a piercing glint in the glimpse at her he takes, something about it almost knowledgable.

“Drinking by the lake tonight?” Kira breaks the blanket of uncomfortable silence, feeling awkward and instantly regretting her decision to speak until someone else finally does. This weekend was supposed to be so different. She and Scott were going to swim with their legs tangled, their lips brushing and their cheeks flushed with desire. They were going to enjoy each other’s company and discover each other’s bodies, more than they already had, anyway. Now things were forced and blundering, and she could plainly see that it wasn’t just between her and Scott. Even Lydia and Calvin weren’t sitting together, and their passion had been lit on fire this past week. What was up with that?  
“Yeah,” Scott rubbed a hand over his nose, sensing the tense atmosphere and feeling his body grow rigid. “It’ll be fun.” He almost snorts at his own lie. Yeah. Fun.

“Wow, what’s up with everyone?” Malia is direct and to the point, and the others are almost thankful because someone had to say it. But still, it probably would have been better if she hadn’t.

 

By the time night rolls around and a dark hue settles over the foggy sky, their negative spirit has settled down a bit and they are able to savor the beauty of their environment, mossy shades of dark olive and an impenetrable thicket of overgrown tints of green overhanging them like beanstalks.

Lydia is touched by Stiles’ kindhearted decision to stay close to her side all day, even going as far as walking adjacent to her on their journey through the woods and to the lake. He didn’t stray, not even for a minute. He believes she and Calvin are fighting and doesn’t want her to feel uncomfortable, standing on her lonesome with nothing but the emerald eyed boy’s bitter eyes focused on her. Every time he notices the sharp way Calvin regards her, Stiles steps between them, and she thinks that’s the sweetest thing anyone has done for her. Stiles being that protective over what he thought to be a miniscule disagreement makes her contemplate over how he’d react if he knew just how far Calvin had gone.

There’s a comfort in his presence and it only further intensifies when his arm loosely wraps around her shoulders to guide her through a particularly steep slope, the tips of his fingers grazing over the flesh of her arm and unconsciously tracing lightly. Lydia appreciates the fuzzy feelings it gives her until she recognizes the familiarity of furious gawping eyes combing over their forms. One peek, and she sees the responsible parties are Calvin and Malia. Not so surprising. What was surprising, was that Stiles had torn himself away from the werecoyote so completely, only bothering with her enough to tell her to be careful because the ridge was steep, whereas he was actually leading Lydia over it.

Malia took immediate notice of this, but she wasn’t going to bring it up right now in front of everyone, not like she usually did. She wanted to get Stiles alone and she wanted to rip off his earlobes. In the figurative sense, of course. But she certainly did plan on giving him a very large piece of her mind.

When they reach the reservoir, the group collectively runs toward the water. Scott drops the bag of alcohol along the side and removes his clothing. Kira is ripping off her top following Scott, quick to jump into the pit of water without checking the temperature. She wouldn’t usually be so brave as to be one of the first to strip down to her undergarments, but her boyfriend made her feel more confident than she’d ever been, even when they weren’t on the best terms. She performed a cannonball, launching herself with such ferocity that she soaks her entire being in the ice cold water.

Malia takes this opportunity to grab Stiles and pull him toward the privacy of the trees, leaving Lydia unguarded and giving Calvin his chance to step in.

Lydia’s eyes flick nervously toward Stiles, who sends her one last glance before allowing his girlfriend pull his arm nearly out of its socket in her haste to lead him away and berate him.

The banshee could hear snippets of their hushed argument; she could hear Kira laughing as Scott pops open a bottle of alcoholic irish cream; she could hear that none of them were paying attention to her or Calvin and what he might say to her next. It wasn’t like she expected them to.

Calvin’s tongue is held between his lips, his face a color of fuming red. “I can not believe the crap you just pulled,” he clucks his tongue, his voice thick and dripping with anger he was holding back.

“Once again Calvin, I didn’t do anything, it’s all in your head.”

“So I’m crazy now? I’m hearing voices?” Calvin laughs, but finds nothing funny. “ - which is pretty weird, considering the shit I hear about you in the halls. They call you schizo-girl behind your back, did you know that? Do you have any idea how many times I’ve defended you against those jockstraps and preppy school boys?” He points a determined finger at her, but is quick to lower it when he realizes that her friends could glimpse at them at any given moment and see their heated discussion.

“I’ve never needed you to defend me,” Lydia answers hotly. “I don’t care what they think.”

“What about what I think?” Calvin asks poignantly. “We get in one tiny fight and you run off for three fucking hours? That’s the most immature shit in the world, Lydia.” he purposefully lowers his voice to avoid his fury from leaking through and heightening its volume. “And when you come back you hang on Stiles like some pathetic school girl with a crush on her teacher.”

The disbelief Lydia feels vibrates through her until she’s physically quaking. “One… tiny fight? You think that grabbing my arms and screaming at me is normal? That it’s okay?”

His teeth grit together and the sound makes her wince. “Don’t be dramatic Lydia, it was nothing.” Calvin shamelessly waggles his head at her like he’s disappointed and she recoils at his nonchalance.

“Malia!” They both turn at Stiles’ sharp exclamation and find that the girl is bounding toward them angrily, her fists clenched and her eyes almost glowing with indignation. She comes to an abrupt stop in front of them, focusing on Calvin.

“Calvin,” she stresses. “Would you like to take a walk?” As Stiles jogs up, she turns a high-pointed

chin and a valiant pair of eyes to him. “It’s too dishonest here.”

“Malia,” Stiles’ voice lowers warningly,  “I wasn’t lying, there’s nothing going on between Lydia and I.”

The banshee in question’s heart flutters like a newborn butterfly, sudden and unexpected. That had been what Malia was angrily demanding of him and she wasn’t happy with his answer.

His eyes are apologetic as he brings the overwhelmed girl with hair that smelled of strawberries into the middle of the situation. “Right, Lydia?” he urges, his hand rubbing over the back of his neck anxiously.

“I-” it’s all she gets out before Calvin is interrupting.

“A walk is exactly what I need right now,” he interjects, finding himself willing to form a temporary alliance with Stiles’ usually oblivious fuck buddy. He’s pleased with her reaction, eyes turning momentarily bright as she nods thankfully at him.

“Malia…” Stiles begins, prepared to tug her away as she had him just minutes prior. She was completely humiliating him for almost no reason. He was only trying to be a good friend and support Lydia through what was a difficult first-couples spat and maybe even get her to open up to him about it, but he couldn’t do that without the werecoyote becoming possessive and jealous. It seemed that Calvin fared no better, judging by the dirty looks he found himself on the receiving end of during their hike to the lake and only further proven by how he readily agreed with Malia. Upon hearing his decision to accompany Malia on her “walk” he shoots him an eye as equally evil as what he’d accepted with no complaints earlier.

They’re sauntering through the trees within seconds, Malia unwilling to hear anymore of what Stiles has to say.

“Let them go,” Lydia tells him. If she believed that Calvin would hurt Malia, she would have stopped them, but the way his eyes sparkled when she approached suggested that he had found an ally, someone to share his unfair anger at Lydia and Stiles with. As far as Lydia was concerned, this was an opportunity to be away from Calvin for just a little while, to breathe without it physically hurting and to relax without being hyper-aware and vigilant of her surroundings, fearful that he would say or do something to upset her.

Stiles lips curl like the opinion isn’t unanimous, but he says nothing to Lydia about it. He runs long fingers through his jet black hair and sighs gruffly, turning and walking toward the lake that Scott and Kira were occupying, oblivious to the rest of the world as they remained wrapped in each other’s arms in a passionate kiss. Apparently they made up.

He hangs his legs over the edge of the bank after removing his shoes, allowing his feet to soak in the shallow water and smirking when he saw Kira splash Scott across his face. He splutters as he chokes on the water, regretting his decision to open his mouth and stick his tongue out at her.

Lydia doesn’t want to cry. Truthfully, she’s fucking sick of crying. It seems like it’s all she does anymore. She mourns and she grieves and she self-pities, and it makes her feel weak. It always has, but her emotions have always been out of her control. Sometimes she was better at hiding it though.

So when she snivels, still standing behind Stiles and watching her friends, she tries to keep it to herself. She does an about-face and rubs her fingers roughly over the bags of her eyes and murmurs to emotions, “Don’t fucking cry, please don’t cry.”

“Lydia,”

She didn’t expect Stiles to call her name. She thought he’d return to ignoring her; blame her for Malia’s resentment. Blinking away any tears, Lydia swivels back around with a blank face that suggests she feels no emotion.

Stiles shakes a bottle at her, a slow grin exposing pearly white teeth. “Drink?”

Lydia smiles lazily and kicks her shoes off to the side, plopping beside him and gratefully taking it from his hands, clasping the neck of the glass bottle as she takes a heavy swig, throwing her head back to swallow down its contents.

His eyebrows raise at her candid behavior, reaching over and resting his hand over the side of the  bottle to stop her. “Easy there, champ.” he pulls it back to an upright position in her grasp. “We still have to go kayaking after this.”

“Like that takes so much effort,” Lydia rolls her eyes, flipping a piece of hair behind her shoulder.

Stiles finds this amusing, something sweet playing on his lips. “Have you ever been kayaking?”

She blinks, chewing on her lip as she avoids his honey eyes. “Well, no, but it’s a double bladed paddle propelled by strength and skill. No one has strength and skill like me,” she relays confidently.

“Is that right?” he gently takes the bottle from her, chuckling as he admires the lipstick coated rim. He swabs a thumb over the opening, collecting the maquillage he found there off of the tip until it was clean, guzzling down the alcohol at the surface.

“Gimme,” Lydia squeezes her hands at the air in front of her, gesturing for more booze.

Stiles sighs dramatically, “I’m going to have to monitor your intake, I can already tell. You’ll be falling over within in a half hour.” At her sour expression, he hands it over with one last thing to say, “You’re not drinking because you’re upset about Calvin, right?”

“Are you drinking because of Malia?” She counters, her mouth enveloping the nozzle and leaving the same red stains as she had previously.

He rolls his eyes at the sight, but stills at the question before blatantly responding. “Nope. I like drinking. Drinking good.”

“Well then,” she narrows her eyes at him. “Me too.”

“Liar, liar dress on fire,” he teases lightheartedly. At the sad way her eyes trail to the sloshing water Kira and Scott are swimming in, he turns serious. “All couples fight, Lydia.”

Lydia’s head springs up instantly. “We’re not a couple.”

“Oh,” Stiles’ lips twist thoughtfully. “You sure?”

“I think I would know,” Lydia drawls, taking another gulp of the bitter substance and shivering as it slickly runs down her throat. She kicks her feet in the water nervously. “What…” she clears her throat right along with her nerves as the alcohol begins to hit her. “What about Malia?” her gaze trails over to Stiles, her stomach doing a flippy dance when she saw he was already staring at her, studying. He was trying to figure out her train of thought; her intentions.

“We’re just having fun,” he frowns. “I told you that already.”

“I thought maybe things changed since then,” Lydia passes the bottle back toward him as the world grows more vibrant and wavy. She should probably stop drinking soon.

“They haven’t,” Stiles is quick to respond, as if he doesn’t want her to believe they could.

“That’s…” she blinks, realizing she isn’t sure what to say next. “Good.”

“Good?” He tilts his head at her pensively. “Why is that good?” He knew he was probably reading far too much into the things she was saying. After all, she was a bit drunk and he was taking advantage of the honesty of a person that lacked sobriety.

Lydia immediately recognizes that it was not the right thing to say, so she takes advantage of their current situation and fakes a laugh. “I don’t know, I’m drunk!” She claims with just a bit more of a slur than she actually had.

“Okay, time to cut you off.” Stiles places the nearly empty bottle of irish cream off to the side, using his hands to propel himself backwards, moving toward the nearest tree.

“Where are you going?” Lydia whines.

“I’m not going anywhere, come here.” He lowers himself back to the mossy ground, leaning his back against the bark.

“What, are we snuggling now?” Lydia snorts sarcastically as she crawls toward him, finding the world a bit too shaky to stand on her own two feet right now.

“Something like that.” Stiles mutters before carefully asking, “Is that okay with you?”

Lydia is taken aback by his reply, her heart jumping into her throat as she pauses in front of him, admiring his face. He doesn’t appear to be joking or trying to test her. His tongue is caught between his lips thoughtfully, his eyes expectant and a little nervous too. She knew that no matter how he felt, it had nothing on her anxiety, especially here and now. Once upon a time, Stiles held the record for “most panic attacks” within the group. Now, that undesirable award belonged to her.

“Sure,” her cheeks flush at the way her voice cracks, and when his strong arms pull her against his contracting chest she does all she can to prevent from biting through her own tongue, molding against his form. His muscled limbs wind around her protectively, settling along her abdomen.

Lydia is stiff for just a moment before she relaxes into their positioning, letting her head drop back against his clavicle. His hot breath brushes against the crook of her shoulder and sways the little hairs peeking out from the nape of her neck. She apprehensively giggles drunkenly and his hold on her tightens instinctively. She absent mindedly plucks lightly at the hairs on his arm.

“Mmm,” Stiles hums into her neck.  “This is nice”

She gulps unsteadily, her body growing rigid. It wasn’t that she was uncomfortable per se, but she couldn’t help but feel that he was only doing this because he was a bit buzzed, or maybe he was really just testing her. Why else would he want her? “Uhuh.”

His chin leans forward to rest against her shoulder, and he feels the muscles tightened there. “Are you okay?” Stiles’ brows furrow in concern. “Because we can stop…”

“No, no. It’s okay, I’m fine.” Lydia licks her dry lips. “It’s just…”

“Yeah?” Stiles presses impatiently.

She says the first thing that comes to her overwrought brain. “I just realized that I think I left my flat iron on back home.”

His laugh rumbles through his chest and vibrates through her body, and it makes her feel warm and gooey, like the inside of a freshly baked cookie. “You’re funny,” he whispers huskily, pressing his lips against a soft spot on her neck. One of his hands travels toward her arm to trek softly over the pale skin there.

“Uh….” Lydia stills. “Why are you touching me?”

“Do you want me to stop?”

She didn’t. She really didn’t, but she was so paranoid about why he might be doing this.

“No I just…”

Stiles comes up with her next excuse for her. “Did you want to go kayaking?” he squeezes her in a hug.

“Yeah,” she frowns. “But I was signed up to go with Calvin.”

“I was supposed to go with Malia,” Stiles points out. “But neither of them are here.” the way his voice rises suggests that he has an idea. “So the logical and only possible solution is for us to go together. I mean, they left us no choice…” he draws out.

Lydia desperately wants to ask him what the hell he’s trying to do here and she mostly just hopes that he really means everything he’s doing and implying. “We’re supposed to go with our partners.”

“I’m pretty capable of telling some lame sign-in sheet that my name is Calvin,” he tells her dryly. Then his breath pauses as he considers something “...Unless you don’t want to go with me, which is fine too..”

“No, I do!” Lydia glances back at him and almost regrets it just because his eyes are hypnotizing. And then she makes a decision.

Fuck Calvin. Fuck him and his rude shouting and intimidation and threats and grabby hands because he is no one and he can not control her like this. If she told Stiles everything, he would be there for her. He and the rest of the pack. There was no way they would let him get away with it, and he wouldn’t hurt any of her friends. They were too smart for one little human. He had no idea what they were capable of. They were strong and fearless and he was tiny. His menace consisted of words and blackmail thus far, and Lydia wasn’t entirely convinced he was truly proficient in what he claimed to be.

If she wanted, she could tell Stiles today. She could end it once and for all. “Let’s do it.”

Stiles lips tug into a broad smile, and he shifts them forward, pulling Lydia to her feet along with him. “Excellent.”

Lydia’s stomach stirred in anticipation. She wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but a promising night of particularly interesting events was ensured to occur. She could only pray that tonight would consist of positive experiences.

 

She wasn’t quite that lucky.

 


	10. Blue

 

**Blue**

_Night falls, I fall, and where were you? And where were you?_

_Warm skin, wolf grin, and where were you?_

_I fell into the moon and it covered you in blue…_

_I fell into the moon, can I make it right? Can I spend the night?_

_High tide, inside, the air is dew… and where were you?_

_Wild eyed, I died… and where were you?_

_I crawled out of the world when you said I shouldn’t stay_

_I crawled out of the world._

_Can I make it right? Can I spend the night?_

\- Angie Hart, “Blue”

 

Nine

 

                For the first five minutes they spent in their kayaks, Lydia and Stiles were racing across the deep ocean water. The reflection of the crescent moon in the softly swaying sea was one of the most beautiful things either teenager had seen, and watching the mirror of water flicker across Lydia’s pale face was a sight for Stiles’ sore eyes.

Whoever reached the luminescent orange buoy first was declared the winner, which inevitably turned out to be Stiles, due to his vast amount of previous experience kayaking with his father when he was a young boy.

                With aching arms due to a fierce struggle to paddle in a fast speed against the water, Lydia expected her grinning companion to demand a reward of some kind, watching in admiration as he shakes out his wet hair with a smug appreciation. After he pressed his fingers to the buoy and announced so gallantly that he was the champion, she swung her paddle against the blue ocean water and splashed it toward his kayak to soak his entire body. It only got better when his sopping shirt clung to the best parts of his chest, the only evidence that there really could be an angel looking out for Lydia Martin.

                “What now?” Lydia asked from her seat. She’d chosen the bright yellow kayak because it reminded her of the sun; it could be her beacon in the water that guided her way. Other than that half-round gorgeous moon hanging low in the sky like it was meant for only them, of course. She’d never expected the ocean to be so well lit, and had forced Stiles to bring flashlights.

Her kayak had a distinguishing chip in the rubber along the side, and when Stiles told her to choose a strong one, fit for a strong girl, she just couldn’t let it go. It was imperfect like her, and the sooner he saw that side of her the better. Even the flawed deserved to be loved in some way. How long had it been since the chipped kayak had been taken to the ocean, to serve its actual purpose in the world? Maybe she was overthinking it.

                Stiles gnaws on the corner of his bottom lip, usually caramel eyes darkened to hazelnut under the overhanging shadow of nightfall. “Just follow me,” he says finally, lifting his paddle from where it once lay across the rubber of his red kayak’s hood and plunging it back in the water.

                “The dock is that way…” The banshee points over her shoulder with a thumb.

                “No shit,” Stiles mutters. “We’re not going back yet…” and then he adds in for good measure, “You’re wearing your bathing suit right?”

                Lydia narrows suspicious eyes. “Yes… under my dress.” As she paddles close behind, she feels it’s necessary to ask, “What are you up to, Stilinski?”

                “Oh, Ms. Martin, I thought you could appreciate a good surprise!”

                “Not if you’re going to kill me and dump my body in the ocean.”

                “No way!” Stiles called backwards. “If I were going to kill you, I’d find a much more original way to do it.”

 

                Within ten minutes, they’ve reached whatever it is Stiles has been looking for. A cavern in the ocean, shrouded by bedrock and cobble stone, lodged into the perfect shape of a grotto. Crystal shaped rock formations hang down from the ceiling, dripping little droplets of water into the ocean below and creating small pools of outstretched dimples on the surface.

                “Wow,” is all Lydia can say, her kayak merely floating in the direction of Stiles’ as she loses the focus to paddle, distracted by the beauty of nature holed up in this small dark arena. “This is incredible.”

                She only just notices that Stiles has gotten out of his kayak, pulling it up against the ledge of rock as he climbs out. He beckons her in his direction with gesturing hands.

                “Come on,” Stiles remarks as he  kneels onto his feet to reel in Lydia’s boat with a tug of his hands. He quickly reaches a hand forward to help her out, but instead of accepting it she hops out onto the gravelly ground without his assistance. “Okay then,” he quips as he abruptly pulls it back.

                “How did you know about this place?”

                “I did my research on the campgrounds before our trip, apparently a lot of people like to visit this area… although, we’re not allowed to get out of our boats and walk around.”

                Lydia rolls her eyes. _Classically Stiles._

                “I was gonna take Malia here…She likes this kind of stuff.” Neither were prepared for the awkward silence that came next. His eyes flit over to hers regretfully, his knuckles knocking against the rock below his bent knees. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

                “Why not?” Lydia answered back with a tone she hoped indicated how little she cared, even if that weren’t necessarily true. He doesn’t answer, and that doesn’t sit well with her, so she tries again. “Why _didn’t_ you take her here?”

                His eyes bore into hers, a flame lit with a sparking match of intensity. “Because I got to take _you_.”

                Lydia’s breath catches in her throat, and she splutters out a coughing fit.

                Stiles raises a heavy brow. “You alright?”

                “I,” Lydia hacks another cough. “ - swallowed wrong.” She ignores the hint of a smile on his lips and instead watches the water gently sway in front of her feet.

                “I’m going for a swim,” Stiles declares with a flourish of his brows, stripping off his sticking wet shirt and tossing it aside before Lydia could question the decision. She hadn’t even realized he was wearing swim trunks. “Care to join me?” He’s dangling his legs over the ledge now, prepared to jump in.

                “What?” Lydia squints at him carefully. “N-No. That’s not a good idea.”

                “It’s just water, Lydia. What’s the worst that could happen?” When she remains mum, he shrugs one side of his shoulders and drops into the water with a splatter that reaches the exposed skin of Lydia’s legs. She lurches backwards against the rock wall with a shriek. “Sorry, did I getcha?” He grins, the water sloshing against his chin where he rhythmically sways the arms that keep him afloat.

                “Just barely,” she glares, dramatically swiping the liquid from her legs.

                “Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” Stiles leans back to allow the water to run through his spiked hair, causing it to deflate and flatten in a sloppy mess atop his head. “The waters cool.”

                The banshee eyeballs the swimming human with a great deal of cynicism, so focused on his expression that her eyelid is involuntarily twitching. She doesn’t want to scare him off, so she does the only thing she can. She grips the hem of her dress with two firm hands and pulls upward, appreciating the feel of his admiring eyes on her body and throwing it in the same spot his shirt was earlier tossed.

                “Do you like my bikini?” Lydia shakes her shoulders for emphasis, not missing the jiggle it caused in her more voluptuous areas.

                He hadn’t missed it either. “Uhhp...Mm..yep. Very nice.” He regains his confidence as swiftly as he lost it, performing a few forward strokes until he was at the ledge her feet were dangling over. He takes one more moment to savor the view. Pale but shapely flesh molded by a peach bikini top clinging so delicately to her breasts and stringy where it was tied around her neck and back, a baby blue bottom-piece eloquently matching.

                “What are you waiting for?” Lydia cocked her head to the right, a large section of strawberry hair  skirting to the other side of her neck. “Pull me in.”

                Stiles’ face freezes before understanding flickers across his wide eyes and parted mouth. Without another word, he places large hands on either side of her waist and plucks her off the ledge. She lands in the water in front of him with a plop, his arms remaining encased securely around her.

                “See? Not so bad.” His voice is low and husky, and it sends prickling needles up Lydia’s already cold arms once the brisk frozen water settles around her form.

                “S-Speak for yourself,” she shivers, only further trembling when he tightens his hold on her.

                And then Stiles is staring at her in a way she doesn’t know how to respond to, a light bulb flickering on somewhere in the center of his iris. “Can I try something?” The water is steady where it brushes flush against their bodies.

                Lydia’s heart stutters, and she could swear she almost felt it fail. With a quiver of a breath she manages a “What..?”

                He lowers his face toward hers, eyelids drifting closed and his breath brushing as a whisper against hers. _This is it_. He’s going to kiss her. Something she’s been waiting for since her heart first betrayed her mind. But why did she still feel so anxious? It’s because his breath smells like liquor and there’s an angry werecoyote somewhere in the woods right now cursing his name. She has to say something. She has to know if this is genuine, that he isn’t going to wake up tomorrow with regret and tell her it was a mistake. She isn’t sure she would be able to handle that. With a pulsating heart, she’s ready to find out just what is delaying her desire to let him do it.

                “Stiles -” and then his mouth was on hers.

                Lydia’s eyes didn’t slip closed, she didn’t melt into his embrace and press everything she had into his soft kiss. There wasn’t an explosion of passion and she didn’t nearly faint from the heat exhaustion that overwhelmed her. Yet her breath still caught, and her eyes were populous like a cartoon character. But that uncertainty was still there at the tip of her tongue, even as his brushed against it, warm and flavored like alcohol and cream.

                So she drew back on impulse, flailing so violently that she had to grab onto the ledge behind her. With her free hand, she defiantly shoves his shoulder “Are you completely wasted!?”

                “What?” Stiles glowers, fixating on her with shock written across stunned features and swollen lips that his tongue was still pressed between. “No!” He sucks his lip into his mouth thoughtfully. “Okay, I’m a little buzzed, but I’m not drunk. I know what I’m doing,” he argues feverishly.

                Lydia’s gaze is scrutinizing. “ _Do you?_ ” She ignores the icy chill in her veins, courtesy of the dropping temperature as the hours wore on, fading into the late hours of night.

                “I kissed you,” he claims blatantly. “Did you not want that? Because either I’m seriously misreading signals here, or you’re a little bipolar.”

                “Says the guy with a girlfriend!” Lydia blurted.

                “Malia and I aren’t together, Lydia!” His eyebrows bend bitterly. “How many times do I have to tell you that before it actually sticks?” He grips onto the rocky ledge with one hand, squeezing so tightly that the tips of his fingers have gone pink.

                “If that were true, why would she jealously storm into the woods earlier tonight?”

                Stiles sighs gruffly, pinching the bridge of his nose with a dripping wet hand. “She was only mad because she thought I was lying to her about nothing going on between us.:

                Lydia wants to say this carefully, but she doesn’t bother. “Weren’t you?”

                “Well, no. I hadn’t kissed you at that point. Now I have, and when she asks, I’ll be upfront about it.”

                “No!” The first thought that comes to Lydia’s mind is Calvin. If Malia knows, it will spread throughout their pack and at some point, Calvin will learn the truth without any doubt. It was only a matter of time, and she wasn’t going to put Stiles at risk, not now. Not after everything that happened tonight. She wanted to tell him the truth so desperately, but she wasn’t sure she could anymore. Not when he was right here in front of her, putting himself out there for her without any regard for anything else. She knew now, that he wanted her… and damn if she didn’t spend the last few months shamefully wanting him, taking every little glimpse she could at the lunch table when no one was watching, turning her head away everytime he and Malia would quietly flirt, little voices and loud minds whispering to Lydia that she’d never be part of that world.

                Stiles’ immediate reaction is to frown. “Why not?”

                Lydia regards the mole-littered face of the boy she adores, a fist seizing her heart. “It would hurt her feelings,” she lies, guarded by the thin and cracking wall that hid her tragic secrets.

                “Malia understands that things between us are temporary.”

                “Keep telling yourself that,” Lydia murmurs, lowering her head to watch the shaky water caress her flat stomach with little else to say. All that was left were the broken promises of a tiny voice in her head that once told her she could give away every undisclosed horrible thing that Calvin had said and yet to do. Things she could confess to Stiles.

                Stiles leaned forward to see through the curtain of deep cherry painted hair hanging in front of her pouting face. “Why are you sad?” He exhales audibly, believing he knew the cause. “I’m sorry I kissed you, I shouldn’t have done that.”

                “You… regret it? _Already_?” She thought his drunk-ass would at least wait until morning before he pulled that nonsense.

                “No!” He was quick to correct her misplaced worries. “No… But you’re confusing me a little here, Lyd. Did you want to kiss me or not? Because honestly, I don’t think I can handle the back and forth as well as I used to,” he admitted, a revealing weakness cracking his words in half.

                Lydia takes one long gander at the boy before her, his heart dangling from his sleeve, something she hadn’t seen in a long time. He was so pretty, drippy and wet, shrouded by the shade of the rocky cavern walls that shadowed the side of his face, accenting the indents of his clamped jaw. Despite how much older and more defined he appeared now, as opposed to a year ago, he retained the same playful innocence, even if it was somehow tainted by the nogitsune and everything he went through these past few months. Not one of them had survived without the scars of the past marring their minds and souls.

                “I did,” she murmurs in all it’s finality. “I still do, but I’m scared.” Her heart climbs to her throat.

                Stiles is moving toward her again, scrummaging through the barrier of ocean to gather her closer, her smaller form taut against his. He doesn’t even take his time to appreciate the feel of her bare stomach against his heavily puffing one as he breathes with beautiful furor. “You have nothing to be afraid of.” A stroke of his fingers over the back of her matted wet hair soothes her.

                The statement alone makes Lydia want to cry, only she doesn’t. She wants to live in this moment for as long as she can, she doesn’t want to turn it into a fest of waterworks and comfort, because she wants them to have fun and enjoy each other’s company for as long as it lasts. They may not have much time. It’s probably past eleven now, it has to be. “Just kiss me.”

                Stiles readily obliges, reaching one hand around to cup the back of her head and heaving her forward to interlock their plump smackers, keeping a firm grip on strands of moist hair and smiling against her lips as he hears the faint traces of her humming her satisfaction under his mouth.

Lydia’s arms wind around his neck, tugging herself closer and lifting herself higher out of the water and into his embrace. He’s more than happy to accept her presence, laving her cold tongue with his warm one and increasing her core body temperature from chattering cold to overheated within seconds. The water sloshes around them, almost as greedy as they are, their fast and steady movements creating a ripple effect in the blue sea surrounding them.

Pressing his lips to Lydia Martin’s was the one of the most marvellous parts of Stiles Stilinski’s mortal coil, an unreal wave of emotion striking him in the most sensitive places and an electrical cord running haywire down his spine. He was feeling a lot of things; he was warm, he was happy, and he was sure as hell turned on.

Feeling a laugh crack against his mouth, Stiles realizes that she’s aware of his predicament, the fault of their tight-knit proximity and the legs he was only just realizing were wrapped around his waist. No wonder she could tell.

“You be quiet,” he murmurs jokingly, gently nibbling on her lower lip playfully and reaching under the cloak of water to squeeze her bottom.

Lydia yelps, lurching against him in astonishment. She smacks his chest. “Getting frisky!”

“So says the monkey wrapped around me,” he justifies with his usual twinge of smugness.

Her eyes dart to Stiles’ shiny moistened lips, her thighs involuntarily squeezing around his hips. As soon as the responsive groan leaves him she’s attacking his lips again with twice as much passion and vigor, running sharp nails over the back of his neck and feeling her heart lift in success when he shivers, tugging  at the short strands at the root of his dark hair.

He practically growls against her, the sound a vibrating rumble against her sucking kiss. Stiles presses a palm flat against her back, molding the pliant flesh covering her trapezius and pressing her as tightly to him as possible, like they were melting into one another.

                Lydia squeals when he roughly spins them around, a rush of cold water creasing over her folded legs, the only noise other than the sticky slide of colliding tongues and the guttural moans that both individuals were taking part in. Of course, Lydia wouldn’t be responsible for such shrill symphonies if Stiles weren’t pinching her thighs and rubbing wandering hands along her sides.

                “You totally want me,” Stiles states proudly, grinning even as he places another wet kiss on the center of her mouth.

                She avoids his lips as he moves forward for a second, putting a firm finger up to his mouth to stop him. “Excuseme? You want me so much more. And I can prove it.” Untangling herself from his grip, Lydia swims away from him with ease.

                “What are you doing?” He tries to hide his disappointment at her sudden remoteness, already missing the touch of her scraping nails and icy wet skin in his nuzzling embrace.

                “Come and get me,” Lydia teases once she’s far enough away, closer to the rock wall on the other side of the grotto.

                “Unlike you I have self-control. You’ll be back in my arms in minutes.” He was sure of himself until he saw the glint of mischief sparkling in her iris, and then he knew she was about to prove him wrong.

                Her right shoulder lifts in a nonchalant shrug, so slight that it was barely noticeable. She flutters her eyelids at him and swiftly turns so that her back is facing him. She can almost see his eyes enlarge as she reaches around her back to untie one string of her bikini top.

                Being around Stiles tonight brought back an old side of her; not the materialism she put on for show in front of the entire world, but the confidence she wore when she would target attractive men as if she were a siren, risque techniques and a straightforwardness to her flirtation that would reel them like fish into a barrel as easily and natural as breathing came to her. Reverting back to the “player” ways she used to know was accidental, and she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why she was doing it, but it kind of felt nice to be this way with someone who knew her for who she really was, and not the mask she chose to wear.

“L-Lydia?”

Her lips perk up slyly as the binding around her neck slips off, the only thing keeping her chest covered was the arm she used to hold the swimsuit lining in its place. A fresh brush of cold air whispered over her exposed neck. “Are you coming or not?” She angles her head to check behind her, gasping when she realized that his arrival was impending, the water shifting as he crowds into her personal space. Immediately, she turns her head to face forward again, finding herself unable to meet his cloudy eyes. Guessing what his expression was like was much easier than actually seeing it.

Lydia’s arms tighten around her bust at the faint sensation of Stiles tracing his fingertips along the side of her shoulder and trailing downward until he reached her wrist, circling the little blue veins there before slipping his fingers into hers, knitting their hands together. His arms travel back around her, snaking over her stomach to pull her against his heaving chest, soaked with ocean water and just a little bit of nervous perspiration.

Stiles presses his cheek against hers, rubbing softly, and opens his mouth to quietly speak, “I like you Lydia.”

He knew just how to pull her heart strings, a puppeteer for her emotions. Instead of speaking, she licks her swelling lips and fights back tears that she doesn’t even understand the existence of.

Thankfully, he doesn’t expect her to talk, and continues on. “But I don’t want to be one of Lydia Martin’s conquests.” He reaches over her shoulder and collects the strings of her bathing suit to tie them back around her neck. “This isn’t about sex.”

Lydia blinks at the sudden font of confusion that overwhelms her. “I never thought it _was_.” She tries to angrily whip around, but the ocean turns her abrupt turn into a slow one. “What the hell are you talking about, _conquests!_?”

Stiles recognizes his mistake right away. “No, no I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what exactly did you mean?” She motions to poke him hard in the chest, but he captures her finger there and splays her hand across his skin. She swallows hard at the intimacy of it all.

“You’ve always been kind of a…” at her impatient demeanor that was growing to be more annoyed and reddened by the millisecond, he meekly finishes with, “a heartbreaker?”

“You meant a player,” Lydia says poignantly, fiercely yanking her hand back. “You were going to call me a player.”

Stiles runs the now-lonely hand through his sopping hair. “Well, is that the wrong terminology? You made a lot of guys feel a lot of things and then you backed off. I just don’t want to be one of those guys, especially if that’s what you’re doing with Calvin. I mean… are you ready for more than that? Have you ever been?”

Lydia laughs bitterly. “Are you forgetting Jackson… or _Aiden_? Two guys I gave my heart to.”

“Aiden is not a good example, Lydia. You never took him seriously.” When her disposition grew even more frightening, Stiles felt backtracking was necessary. With a hard swallow he dared ask “Can we just go back to kissing?”

 

x-x-x

 

                “Calvin, maybe you should slow down…” When Malia had decided to take Calvin for a walk, she hadn’t realize it would turn into a babysitting job. He was knocking back drinks like it was the end of the world, a shot of tequila followed up with another plastic cup filled with rum. It all started when they returned to the campsite after taking some time to calm down. He’d been pretty good at convincing her that it wasn’t worth getting stressed over, which she found odd considering how livid he’d been with Lydia just seconds prior. She could smell it on him. When they got back and found out that Stiles and Lydia decided to kayaking by themselves, that was when the drinking started.

                “Why should I stop now when things are just starting to look a little less bleak?” Calvin swirls the dull bronze liquid in his cup, staring down at it intently while he chewed on the edge of his nail to the point where it was breaking.

                Malia carefully watches him, detecting his inner turmoil. “You smell like self-destruction.”

                Calvin laughs drunkenly, pointing a lazy finger at her. “I think that maybe you’re the one who’s had too much to drink.”

                The werecoyote inwardly rolls her eyes, wondering how she’s going to take care of this stupid human and be pissed off at Stiles at the same time. Everytime she tries to put her mind on something else, it goes right back to him and her and whatever it is that _they_ are doing. “Do you think they’re cheating on us?” She blurts out, before she can stop herself. It’s not the best thing to ask someone who’s severely intoxicated, especially when the reason for his drunken stupor is the very thing she’s bringing up.

                Calvin’s smile vanishes, though his eyes remain glazed and unfocused. His hands flail as he replies, “They’re probably fucking right now.” He pushes himself to a sitting position. “We have to go confront them about it. We still have our own kayaks and we haven’t even used them yet.”  
                Malia blankly stares at him. “Somehow, I think operating a boat would be a bad idea in your… predicament.”

                “Now you sound like Lydia,” he drawls, already pushing himself into a standing position. “Come on, we’ll find them.”

                It would be a very stupid idea if they were just two normal people searching the ocean for their betraying lovers, but Malia was capable of sniffing them out and following Stiles’ trail until it led them to wherever they were. In front of Calvin, she could just act like she was lucky enough to figure out where they were. It wasn’t like he was going to question the strangeness of it, he was too drunk. Then again, he might be too drunk to kayak as well. There was only one way to find out.

                “Promise you won’t drown.”

                Calvin sighs dramatically. “No, Malia, I will not drown _myself_.”

                Her eyebrows furrow at the emphasis, but she finally nods in agreement. “Good.” she glances back toward the tents, where Kira and Scott are cuddled up under some blankets doing god knows what. “But we’re not telling _them_.”

                “Deal.”

 

x-x-x

 

                “I really am sorry,” Stiles tried, sitting with bent knees on the rocky ledge. Lydia was leaning against the wall, her legs curled up to her chest and a frustrated gleam in her eyes where they were cast off in the distance, like he wasn’t there.

                They hadn’t brought towels, but had mostly air dried since their decision to get out of the water. It was freezing, especially since they’d adjusted to the temperature of the water, air brisk and shuttering around them. Stiles would have offered to trap her body heat with his, but the suggestion would probably only make her more furious with him.

                “I don’t think you’re a player, and I didn’t mean that you were just using me. I don’t think that at all, I swear.” The silence of the dewey air was almost too much to bare. He reached a hesitant hand out and brushed it delicately against her knee. “Please talk to me.”

                “I’m mad at you,” Lydia gritted out, surprised at her newfound ability to be honest with him. At this rate, if she kept it up, she’d be confessing everything to him within just a few minutes. As long as he kept trying to get her to open up, that is.

                “I know… and you should be.” his pouty face was weakening her resolve.

                “Yep.” But she was going to hold out for as long as she could.

                Stiles sighed heavily, moving to sit back against the rock beside her, almost slamming the back of his head against it as he allowed his body to lean backwards. He leans an elbow over his knee, folded into a position that looked uncomfortable. “I’m such a jerk.”

                And just like that, Lydia crumpled with guilt. “No you’re not. You’re just… Stiles.”

                “Stiles the filterless asshole with no tact,” he mutters begrudgingly.

                “Stop putting yourself down!” Lydia demands, slapping a hand on his knee chastisingly. “You just upset me, because I don’t want you to think that I would ever do that… I mean I _have…_ but I don’t want you to think that I would ever do that to _you_.”

                “I was only asking because I want things to work out like they’re supposed to.” His shoulders shrug automatically, and he shakes his head to himself. “I don’t know, it’s stupid. Nevermind.”

                She wants to tell him that it’s not stupid and that she understands, but instead she just takes his hand and holds it, like they have so many times today.

                It seems to be enough, because his head slowly turns toward hers, a reassurance lighting up his eyes and flitting the slightest bit of a smile over his once dismal lips.

                They sit in perfect silence for a while after that, his thumb trailing over the back of her hand and hers squeezing his so tightly like she’s afraid it will suddenly slip away and he’ll be gone. The very thought is frightening to her, that she could be so completely terrified of losing this one boy in her life. He wasn’t her family, but more. Something else entirely, but still important like a brother might be. With different feelings, so strong that they were painful.

                The perfect vesicle of peace shatters in one instant moment. It started with a new rush of water from the opening of the cave, and when they turned curious eyes toward the new sound, two familiar faces appearing in front of the shadow of night caused two more hearts to drop.

                “Malia,” Stiles was the first to say, just as the two kayaks pulled to a stop in front of the ledge and both parties climbed out. Where Malia and Calvin moved with confidence, Stiles and Lydia cowered back uncomfortably, pulling their hands apart relatively fast and jumping to their legs.

                Stiles could smell the alcohol coming off of Calvin in waves, even before he was near them. It was strong and almost vile, his nose wrinkling at the new disturbing scent. He was never the kind of guy to get completely wasted, not after everything with his father in the past. Then he felt Lydia squishing into his side, seeking protection or comfort of some kind. That was confusing. Calvin throwing daggers at Stiles with his eyes… Now that was _less_ confusing.

                “What are you doing here?” Malia asked bitterly, her lips inverted into a straight line and her foot tapping restlessly against rock. She admires their lack of clothing, her eyes skating over their wet bathing suits.

                “You guys were gone for a while, so we decided to go kayaking,” Stiles lacked any real poise, and it made him seem even guiltier. When he realizes they’re both staring at his swim trunks and Lydia’s bikini, he expounds upon his explanation. “ - And we went swimming.”

                “You don’t say?” Malia grits out.

                Lydia knew this would happen, or at least something along these lines. She knew that Malia would not take it well, and that Stiles was either lying or way god damn off when it came to his knowledge about what Malia thought was the definition of their relationship. Lydia was completely avoiding looking at Calvin, and she hated herself for it, as well as the unexplainable fear welling deep inside an ache in the center of her chest. She unconsciously moved closer to Stiles, clinging to his side as if he would offer some kind of barrier, her knees feeling vaguely like rubber. It wasn’t like he even knew what was going on between them, so how could Stiles possibly help?  
                “First, let me just say,” Calvin nearly tripped over his own feet, the entire world wavy as the disoriented teenager took his first step forward, just to avoid falling into the water. “kayaking is fucking hard.”

                “You’re completely wasted,” Stiles doesn’t mean to sound like an ass, but the bitterness is detectable. “You shouldn’t be in a boat like this anyway.”

                “You shouldn’t be in a boat with my girlfriend, _anyway_ ,” the drunk teen retorted just as frustratedly.

                Stiles snorts, his tongue curling with sarcasm as he bites back sarcastically, “We were in our own boats, actually.” He holds back the part about Lydia not being his girlfriend, because there was really no point in getting a wasted teenager more pissed off than he was. It would be adding fuel to an already raging flame, and one look at Malia told him that this fire may be more out of control than he ever anticipated.

                “We were just about to leave,” Lydia chimes in lowly, hoping to put a stop to the back and forth before it gets out of hand. Feeling the attention of the cave transfer to her, she regrets the decision to speak up.

                “ _No you weren’t_ ,” Calvin hacks.

                “We were just swimming,” Stiles defends with with a red face and bending brows, growing more fed up with the inebriated boy who had no right to be upset, a mere stranger amongst their group of friends. He wasn’t even supposed to be on this trip. Stiles didn’t want to be embroiled into an argument between Lydia and Calvin, especially when he had his own problems with Malia to now worry about, but this guy was getting on his last nerve and he was pretty much ready to tell him off, but Lydia’s distress was coming off her in waves and he wasn’t going to start something.

                “We just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Malia says thickly. “We should get back to the campsite, it’s late.” She grabs Stiles hand and gently pulls.

                “Uh, I don’t think Calvin should be kayaking like this. If he falls in the water I’m not saving him.”

                “Lydia can wait with him until he sobers up a bit,” Malia suggests readily, unrelenting. “Is that okay with you guys?”

                “Yeah, my Lyd-ee will take good care of me.” Calvin slurs, moving forward to wrap an arm around the banshee to avoid toppling over. He lightly pinches her shoulder to hug her closer to his side, completely separating her from Stiles and Malia.

                “I don’t know,” Stiles rubs the back of his neck haphazardly. “Might be too much of a handful for her, taking care of a wasted teenager.” his eyes focus attentively on Lydia, waiting for her to make contact of some kind, but she refuses to look up from the gravel where she’s kicking her feet so he continues on. “I can hang back with Calvin while you girls go back.. if you want?” He wants to help her out, but she isn’t giving him much to work with. Hell, he doesn’t even know what she’d like to do here.

                “Just go!” Calvin cuts in, much to Stiles’ chagrin. “We can sit and admire this pretty little cave thing you found until it’s _safe_ for someone in my condition to be out in troubled waters.”

                At first, Stiles feels the stirrings of paranoia telling him that Calvin is acting more drunk than he actually is, but he dismisses the thought as soon as it strikes him. It made no sense. “If that’s okay with _Lydia_ ,” he firmly tells Calvin, implying that he should shut his mouth about it being okay and let the girl decide for herself.

                Lydia hangs her head low as the attention once again returns to her. “I’ll stay.” She isn’t even sure how she got the words out, shoulders slumping in compliance as she gives up, allowing Calvin to remain holding onto her. She hated the way he smelled right now, and up close was even worse.

                “Are you sure?” Stiles feels that the entire situation is on unsteady ground, only further evident by Lydia’s avoiding gaze and nervous stature. Maybe she didn’t want to have this conversation with Calvin yet.. telling him that she wasn’t serious about him like he was about her. That she liked Stiles. Doubt clouded Stiles’ thoughts once more as he considered the possibility that Lydia wasn’t going to tell him about their...whatever they were and might become. He wasn’t going to say anything about it to Malia until he discussed it with the banshee first.

                “Yeah,” Her eyes are guilty as they meet his, and it does nothing to make his worry recede. “I’ll see you later, Stiles…” It almost sounds like she doesn’t really mean it, and he tries not to read too much into the context there.

                “Okay..” And he’s angry with himself for listening, he’s angry with himself as he gets back in his kayak and rows beside Malia back to the shore. He’s angry when he mutters an apology to her for their earlier argument, and even when he climbs under his blankets beside an already sleeping Scott.

 

When dawn breaks, Lydia still hasn’t returned.

 

x-x-x

 

                Calvin was beyond enraged, Lydia could see that before he ever spoke a word, before his accusing eyes were on hers, filled with animosity and loathing. She folded into a shell of who she used to be, backing herself into the furthest corner of the ledge and hugging herself, desperate for solace. His alcohol level was only going to make him worse than he would be if he’d skipped the last few rounds available to him.

                When Stiles and Malia disappeared around the bend, vanishing out of the cave’s entrance, Lydia waited for Calvin to blow up at her. Several seconds ticked by, and with each passing one, her anxiety grew a little less steady, less maintainable. If he didn’t burst, she was going to. Gulping down a wave of panic, Lydia dug her nails into the skin of her upper arm.

                Calvin sniffed the air like he was admiring the tension. “I love the smell of the sea, it’s like salt.” Finally acknowledging her puffs of uneasy breath, he tilts a clenched jaw in her direction. “Why are you so far away?”

                “You smell like liquor.”

                He laughs gutturally. “I didn’t realize smart girls stated the obvious.” Stumbling toward her, the edge of his shoe catches on a jutting rock, but he stops himself from landing hard by placing a firm hand on the wall. “You’re so sneaky… Waiting until I’m gone and taking Stiles to this little romantic spot. How cute of you.” His bitterness can’t be mistaken.

                “He took me here.”

                “ _And you let him_ ,” Calvin barks, leaning just a little bit closer, enough to intimidate as he so purposely does. “What else did you let him do?” he snakes a finger over her shoulder, pushing delicately against the strap of her bikini to let it fall around her arm. “Did you let him touch you?”

                Lydia immediately pulls it back to its rightful position. “What? No!” Hives appear on her chest, red and splotchy, caused only by her apprehension and fear. “You’re being unreasonable. We were just kayaking.”

                “Don’t treat me like a fucking idiot.”

                It isn’t long before his hands are on her arms again, tight and threatening. “Get your hands off me.”

                “When did you grow a backbone, Lydia? What makes you think you can tell _me_ what to do?” Calvin has gone red in the face, eyes darkened and squinting with a stillness of his posture that suggests self-assurance.

                “When I realized you’re just a freak with empty threats! Stay away from me, and stay away from my friends,” Lydia shoots back bravely, ignoring the overhanging feeling of dread creeping deep into her stomach and twisting painfully.

                “ _Oh,_ I’m going to teach you a lesson you won’t forget. Then we’ll see what you have to say about empty threats.”

                The world spins when he clenches down on her shoulders and swings them around, using the momentum to shove her off of the ledge and land against the side of her kayak, splashing into the water as she cracks her head against the rubber exterior. The force unhooked her boat from the rock, sending it floating away from them with ease, her bright yellow guiding light moving into the same far away space that Stiles had occupied, dissolving as he had.

                Before Lydia understands what is actually happening, Calvin has grabbed her by the root of her hair, leaned over the edge of the gravel and forcing her head beneath the surface. A scream burbles out, but it is lost under the water, so blue and so cold. Where she feels it like ice against her face, it burns her and tightens her chest, the ability to breathe becoming more constricting and impossible.

                With pure willpower and strength, Lydia uses her flailing arms to make it back to the surface and suck in a quick breath, but he’s pushing down again, and the blurry blue ocean is all she sees. Bubbles form in the water in front of her from her desperate attempts at breathing, if only she were Ariel, if only she were a mermaid with the gift of taking water into her lungs and using it to survive. Instead it’s killing her, burning her from the inside.

                The amount of water she was drinking in, it was suffocating. It was filling her, the taste of salt tickling her tastebuds and sliding forcibly down her throat, never meant to take in this much at one time. Her arms are hurting, sore muscles like she’d been lifting weights for hour She never knew drowning would feel like this.

                As her head becomes fuzzy and the outside world becomes faint and far away, Calvin fading so far into the distance it’s like he’s not even the one doing it anymore, Lydia can only recognize the blue blue ocean as it surrounds her and swallows her as deeply as she swallows its water.


	11. The Unwinding Cable Car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is kind of a filler/aftermath type of thing. There is no major plot development (except for some relationship stuff), but there is a lot of character reflection and decision making. I hope you like it anyways(:
> 
> I’m sorry for the wait, I got a lot of messages on tumblr asking for an update and I definitely took a lot longer this time.

 

**_The Unwinding Cable Car_ **

_Emotive unstable, you’re like an unwinding cable car_

_Listening for voices, but it’s the choices that make us who we are_

_Go your own way even seasons have changed,_

_Just burn those new leaves over_

_So self-absorbed you’ve seemed to ignore the prayers that have already come about_

_This is the correlation, of salvation and love_

_Don’t drop your arms_

_Don’t drop your arms, I’ll guard your heart_

_With quiet words I’ll lead you in._

\- Anberlin

 

Ten

 

                “Fuck. Oh shit.” It wasn’t long after Lydia lost consciousness that Calvin came to his senses, dragging her freezing limp body from the water and letting it fall motionless against the ledge. He was lightly slapping her cheek in a mantra, trying to rouse her with his eyes wild and frayed. The more empty time had passed, the more anxious and panicked his movements became “ _Fuck_ , Lydia. Wake up, wake up, “he roughly shakes her shoulders “ _Wake up_!” He stills then, waiting and watching her chest as he waits for it to rise or fall or do _something_. Anything.

                “No, you’re not going to do this. Not now.” Lydia’s body is floppy, dead weight in Calvin’s arms as he flips her over, holding her up in an awkward sitting pose as he smacks a flat hand hard against her back, trying to force the water out. “Come on,” he leans her over the side more, her wet hair dropping from the back of her neck to rub thick wet strands against the side of her cheek while she is hung over the ledge.

                He pounds her back again, but when that fails to do much other than leave a hand-shaped print on her skin, he wraps loose arms under her sternum, maneuvering his hands to hold her at just the perfect angle, her lull form making the attempt much more gradual and tiring. Finally, when his arms are hooked firmly in their rightful positions below her ribcage, he pulls upwards with great force. He does it again. And again.

                And then the sound of a choked gurgle halts his movements, and only a second after that Lydia’s hand is twitching and then she’s awake. She lurches forward as bursts of water spout from her lips, the sensation similar to drowning all over again as her water-filled lungs forcibly empty themselves. Her chipped nails dig into the rock beneath her lurching body, searching for an anchor; something to hold onto to prevent her from losing it.

Somewhere along the way, Lydia wasn’t sure how, her heaving eventually turned into hysterical sobbing. Once again, she was the scared little girl with monsters under her bed, the teenager on the verge of a mental breakdown because of her nightmares. She hadn’t felt this utterly hopeless and taken advantage of since Peter roamed the secret places in her head and made her see and feel things that she couldn’t even begin to understand were supernatural. It was the darkness that had once lurked beneath the surface of muddy water and it had risen until it was in plain view for only her to see. She could see evil, it was everywhere.

“Shh, its okay.” Calvin was crushing her close to him. From a spectator’s point of view, he probably looked like a man who almost lost the woman he loved, trying to find comfort in her breathing while simultaneously comforting her. It was eerie.

Lydia wanted to scream at him, to shove him away; but she was too weak; tired, and far too worried for what he might do next. She was shaking in his arms but it wasn’t because she was cold.

She could only give in to her broken heart, her eyes bleeding tears as she miserably wailed and the throbbing in her head as difficult to ignore as an immense hole in the wall of her sanity. The wall that had been patched up so many times before; the evidence was there with each piece of gauze and tape disguising it. Lydia had to hide her broken walls before she accidentally let someone in.

It took a long time for her to calm down, hiccups fading into sniffles and quiet pain-filled moans until she finally found the strength to drag her aching body away from Calvin. He didn’t fight her on this, just observing as she collapsed back against the ledge breathlessly.

His voice causes a whirling in her stomach, the sudden noise unexpected after he’d spent so long silent, letting her rest in his arms and trying to comfort her with gentle hands and hushing lips. “You wore yourself out.”

It was questionable whether or not he was referring to her spout of crying or was actually blaming her for his volatile and near life-costing actions. Lydia was still horrified and unable to comprehend that he actually just drowned her. He held her underwater, not caring that she was screaming and choking and sucking down harsh amounts of water. It didn’t even feel real, more like a nightmare that she was just waking from upon her revival. More than anything, Lydia was swept in a wave of terror. Every instinct inside of her was set to red alert, the little hairs on her arms protectively raised and her entire form quivering.

Lydia probably couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering long enough to get the words out, and she wasn’t even going to bother trying. As unpredictable as Calvin was, there was a good chance that anything she said was going to set him off anyway, and she couldn’t deal with anymore of his violent outbursts. If being quiet and listening to him when he wanted her to was the way to keep him tame, than she would do it. If she had to stay away from Stiles… she’d do that to. As long as he was safe and not being remotely threatened by what should’ve been a weak “villain” to be beaten. He was just a human; his strength was nothing compared to Scott and Malia’s, his dexterity and skill obsolete when contrasted with Kira’s, and his brain miniscule beside Lydia and Stiles. So why was this so hard for her? Why was she so afraid?

Time passes, and Lydia can’t be sure precisely how much, but the sun is just beginning to rise, assuring her that they’ve been here a while. Most of that time is spent with her thoughts questioning and deciding and reevaluating. For the life of her, she can’t make a decision. She doesn’t know what to do with Calvin. But she wants to go _home_. “I should probably take your kayak back to the shore. I’ll get a two-seater and come back for you.” Her voice is shredded with knives, courtesy of the period of crying she did, followed by a refusal to speak until now (being _drowned_ may have also played a part). Immediately, she knew he was going to shoot down her suggestion and take it the wrong way.

Calvin’s eyes narrow dangerously, pupils dilated as they focus on her face. His tone drops to an intimidating volume, “Given the probability of you actually coming back for me, I think _I’ll_ go get the two-seater.”

                Panic struck a chord inside of her. “Don’t leave me here!” She blurted out.

                “Hmph,” Calvin snorts a short laugh, even though he clearly doesn’t find anything even slightly humorous. He leans over her with a bent finger touching the small spot under her chin and Lydia does everything she can to avoid flinching, but it happens anyway. “Oh, Lydia.” he sighs longingly, “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

She avoids his intense eyes, nervously staring at the farthest corner of the grotto, a dark shadow that she can’t quite make out.

“Don’t worry, kitten, I’ll be back..”

“ _Kitten_ ,” Lydia reiterates thickly, disgusted.

He steeples his fingers thoughtfully, nonchalantly telling her that, “Cats hate the water.” As if that was any kind of explanation.

Disbelief runs red in Lydia’s veins and she outwardly fumes. Was he blaming her drowning on something as simple as _not liking water?_ He was trying to provoke her, and it was working. She glowers at him, her legs becoming tense where they’re sloppily folded underneath her “It has nothing to do with hating water you-” She stops herself short, a spider-like tingling coursing over the top layer of the skin of her arms. Lydia’s gaze drops in submission. It was best not to bring his temper back, not after what he did.

Calvin sighs, lowering himself to her level on the ground. “Poor thing, you must still be delirious. You hit your head pretty hard there,” his eyes twinkled mischievously, the only evidence that he was aware of his own violent tendencies, his outbursts so sudden and unpredictable that Lydia was beginning to consider some very serious mental disorders. “Hopefully there’s no lasting damage.”

“If I was going to get hypoxemia or hypothermia it would have set in by now.” she stares off into the distance. “I could still get pneumonia though. I guess it beats being dead.”

Calvin’s head reels back into his neck, taken aback by her bluntness.

Lydia shakes her head and tells him with a breathy croak, “Just go.” _The sooner the better._

“Don’t worry Lydia,” Calvin husks, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of her still jaw. “I’ll be back.” His grin was vindictive as he added, “ _Eventually_.”

Her head lifted from her knee, her eyes bulging at him. But he didn’t say anything. “Calvin!” Lydia called helplessly as he kayaked out of the cave and into the basking sunlight.

With every second he’s gone, the painful throbbing in her chest is accompanied by one more thread of physical and emotional torment. After she’s finally pulled her clothes back on over her bikini, she just starts unraveling and yanking out the string of her shirt’s sleeve to take her pent up anxiety out on something. She can’t allow herself to break down again; she can’t throw herself screaming in this tiny little cave, not like she sometimes did in the privacy of her own room. It wasn’t like her mother ever heard her; no one ever did.

 

x-x-x

 

                When Stiles wakes up, he’s seeing things a little clearer (or so he believes). The sun is shining just a little bit brighter than the moon had upon Malia and Calvin’s spontaneous arrival last night, and sleeping on his thoughts had been a better idea than he considered it might be. There’s a fresh wave of energy in the air today, and he can feel it on the edge of his tongue, the excitement squeezing his heart. Today is a new day, no... a new era. Because today was the first day since he and Lydia kissed.

                Real kissing. He wasn’t having a panic attack and she wasn’t either. They were swimming in the ocean and laughing and smiling and even arguing a little, but there was nothing forced about it.

                Stiles touches two fingers to his lips, because he can still feel her there. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t brushed his teeth yet.

                The pep in his step remains as he puts on a clean pair of jeans and a grey t-shirt and it heightens when he finally brushes his teeth, because now he’s another few steps closer to the moment he sees Lydia. They didn’t bump in to each other in the bathroom this time, and with a small chuckle Stiles realized that she was probably still sleeping. Maybe he could sneak into her room and scare her awake… or he could just plant butterfly kisses along her neck until she rouses with a moan. Either way, she was going to be adorably bedraggled and sleepy, eyes half-open and her mouth parted with confusion. He liked plan with the kissing better, but it was going to have to wait until they’d actually discussed what they were to each other and what to do about the other people in their lives. Stiles Stilinski wasn’t a cheater, and he wouldn’t have kissed Lydia if he and Malia were an actual couple. But even though they weren’t, there was still a lot of explaining to do, and a friend with benefits to be turned into nothing other than a friend.

                And then there was Calvin. Their “relationship” was very strange and still new, so he couldn’t understand Lydia’s connection to him. Everything about Calvin rubbed Stiles the wrong way, but he knew it was probably just his jealousy getting the best of him. He was nothing but a gentleman toward Lydia, except for those times that he got irrationally irritable. Wanting to be friends with him was for no one other than Lydia and the sake of his friendship with her, and now that things between them were getting increasingly romantic he didn’t see the need.

                He wondered if Lydia was going to stay close to Calvin now that she was outwardly showing her feelings for someone else. Maybe he was thinking too far ahead. _Maybe he was overthinking the entire thing._

                Stiles spit his toothpaste into a bush behind his tent, taking a few sips from his water bottle and gargling to repeat the movement. He was going to be perfectly fresh for the moment that he was most certainly _not_ going to wake Lydia up by kissing her neck. _Because that would be wrong_ …

                He took his first few steps toward her tent before the familiar sound of Scott’s voice beckoned him away.

                “Stiles!”

                With a huff, the impatient teenager dragged his unwilling legs toward the center of the campsite where Scott was heaving a few backpacks.

                “Scott, what are you doing?”

                “Just want to get a head start on packing so that we can enjoy the rest of our day,” he smiled broadly, admiring the pile of bags he’d tossed.

                “I almost forgot we were leaving today.” Stiles casually chuckled and noted, “I’ve been having such a good time.”

                Scott looked up with curiosity in his eyes. If the way his friend said it was telling, the goofy smile and stuttering heartbeat was a dead giveaway. “Uh-oh, what happened?” Apparently, Stiles had gotten himself into the good kind of trouble. The alpha would get this story out of the human of his pack one way or another.

                Stiles wanted more than anything to tell Stiles the delicious details of his night, but he couldn’t. Not until he and Lydia talked about it, first. It was an important conversation to have, and he wanted to get it done while he had the enthusiasm and rehearsed lines memorized in his head. He could repeat them in a mantra at this point.

                _“Lydia, you’re like no other girl_. _”_

Scott observed the area, the body of water beside their campsite with scanning eyes. “Something’s weird,” he murmured to himself.

                _“And I think last night was an opportunity for us to finally get what we want. I think that we finally might want the same thing.”_

The alpha’s eyes narrowed on something in the distance. He cupped a hand over his eyes just to see through the rays of sun blocking his vision.

                _“I want you… and for some insane reason beyond my undeserving comprehension there’s a chance you might want me too.”_

Scott could finally see what was setting off his instinct, something nestled into the gentle sloshing water.

                _“And instead of just wanting each other… maybe we could… have more than that. You could have me and… Sure, I realize that you’ve always kind of had me but maybe this time... I could have you too?”_

                “Isn’t that Lydia’s boat?”

                Stiles was viciously torn from his fantasy in a split second. It took a moment to free himself from make believe-land and come back to the real world, but when he did he turned his eyes in the same direction that Scott was staring off into with concern edged along his brow.

                And right there floating emptily toward them was a bright yellow kayak with a chip in its rubber.

                Stiles faltered forward foggily, his heart beginning to race as the implications of the kayak drifting in their direction _empty_ tangled like webs in his brain. The only thing Stiles needed right now was to know where Lydia was. And he needed to know **now**.

                “Lydia!” He trudges through the shallow water, heavy against the soggy ends of his jeans as he rushes toward the kayak, splashing liquid onto his shirt as his hands took hold of the sides. It was of course clear of any trace of the banshee, obvious enough from when he was still on land. Kayaks were small and only meant to hold someone sitting up. If he couldn’t see her from the shore, she most definitely wasn’t going to be there when he got closer. Fear usually lacked rationality and he was so befuddled that he didn’t think it through.

                He drags the kayak back to the dirt anyway, leaving it there as he turns his alarmed eyes to Scott. Seeing that he’s just as uncertain and bewildered as him, Stiles stomps his tense figure toward the only person that would actually know. During his stride, he runs straight into Malia’s shoulder.

                “Stiles?”

He ignores her and continues his journey, but then it occurs to him that he could ask her something, so he whips back around. “Have you seen Lydia since last night?” The question is hurried, and the way his hands are shaking at her indicate that he wants her to answer just as quickly.

“Uh.. no. I don’t think she came back.”

Stiles tears off toward the tent the boys were staying in and checks for Calvin, but of course he isn’t there, and now his worry has shifted into something a little more desperate. He can hear Malia behind him, but he continues his search as he goes for the women’s tent next.

“Stiles, what’s going on!?” Malia slaps a hand to her forehead as she watches him move in a flurry. “Talk to me.”

“Calvin’s back,” Scott declares loudly from the edge of the water. He was ready to find out exactly what was going on, because clearly he’d missed a lot last night. He didn’t understand the reason behind Stiles freak out or why Lydia was considered missing. It was possible that she and Calvin were off doing their own thing, and he was thankful that he wasn’t the only one left out of the loop when Kira came to his side with the same observing determination to figure out what the issue was as he.

They were going to have to wait, because just as Calvin was climbing out of his kayak Stiles was treading toward him with a tightened demeanor in his pounding pace, a matching indignant spark in the center of his eyes.

                “ _Oh_ boy,” Kira muttered. She didn’t have to be psychic to see that something not-good was about to happen.

                Stiles was back in the shallow of the water, reaching for Calvin before he was even fully near him, his hands boldly raveling fists into Calvin’s shirt without the slightest hesitation. Between gritted teeth he tugged him closer and demanded, “ _Where’s Lydia_!?” With a raucous crackle overtaking his voice; it was evident that he wasn’t going to take anything other than a direct answer.

                “I’ll give you one chance to get off me before I put you down,” Calvin confounded mightily with a snarl to boot, unmoving in the other teen’s grasp.

                “Just tell me where she is! _Why_ didn’t she take her boat back last night!?”

                Calvin finally reacts, swinging two arms up between Stiles’ and smacking his violently away. “Fucking chill out! She’s back at the cave.”

                Stiles is placated just a little bit, but the red mist is still settled over his rigid shoulders and tense jaw. She was safe, that was what mattered. He wasn’t finished here yet, though. “You left her there?”

                “We ended up spending the night there,” Calvin replied smoothly, a smug smirk accenting his lips slightly upwards. “Her kayak unhooked from the ledge and kind of sailed away in the middle of the night, so I came back to get a two-seater.” His eyes darken. “Is that a _problem_?”

                Stiles blinks, folding his arms across his chest in embarrassment. He was starting to feel idiotic. “No... It’s not.” He was still caught on the part about Lydia and Calvin spending the entire night there. What reason could she have to possibly do that? His arms cross, concern for her replaced with anger; anger for being worried about her in the first place when she was with Calvin all night. But Stiles has to give her the benefit of the doubt and let her explain her actions. For all he knew she was just trying to break up with him and he didn’t take it well, so she spent the majority of the night comforting him. It was possible, and he was going to hold on to the shred of hope that said so.

                Everyone settled down as Calvin brushed past them in search of someone who could help him find a larger boat. Stiles was sitting on a log by the water, waiting for Calvin to bring Lydia back whilst Scott and Kira “discretely” whispered about him a couple of yards away. He didn’t pay them any mind because he couldn’t explain his own actions either.

He didn’t know what he was thinking, going after Calvin like that. He had no reason to suspect that Calvin  was responsible for whatever he thought had happened. When Stiles saw Lydia’s kayak drifting lonesome in the water it sent him into a haze of blind worry, and when he could find no one to blame or hold responsible he automatically decided Calvin had done something. It wasn’t good of him to think that way, he didn’t want to be the guy that assumed, especially when Calvin had enough to deal with. He was in a new school, being bullied by jocks and living in a dirty little house with his older brother who was probably just as strange if not worse, and here he was, (probably) about to get dumped by the one girl that made his time in Beacon Hills worth it. Stiles had to sympathize with someone in his position, even if their new friendship was a little forced.

He saw Scott approaching before the alpha had even moved his feet.

“Hey.” Scott dropped on the log beside him. He studied his friend’s face for a long seven seconds before he jumped right into the problem at hand. “What’s going on, Stiles?”

Stiles lets out a quiet sigh and shakes his head at the dirt below his feet.

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

“I _do_ want to talk about it, especially with my brother.” Stiles cracked his knuckles, shuffling his hands together. “But I can’t. Not until I talk to Lydia.”

Scott nods smoothly, rubbing a hand along the stubble of his jaw with a question on his tongue.

Stiles can see that. “What?”

“I don’t know, it’s just…” Scott frowns as he finally asks, “She’s okay, right?”

                The dark haired human weighs this heavily. If he was being honest with himself, he’d admit that he was concerned about the banshee. More than concerned, he was frightened for her. The way she spoke about her hallucinations sometimes reminded him of his mother in her more delirious states, when things were getting worse in her head. The things Lydia was sometimes seeing had no explanation behind them like before. They were completely random and meaningless, just meant to scare her. It was terrifying when they made the discovery that someone had been in her room, someone had replaced Allison’s last memory for her with a bloody dress, one that belonged to Allison that Lydia wore to her funeral. Hell, Stiles was still waiting for his father to get back to him about that.

                He felt like Lydia was in danger, not from someone else but herself. Ever since he did a rewatch of 90’s movies last week he’s been considering that it was a “Fight Club” kind of deal. That maybe Lydia was the one responsible for the blood, like she had soaked it into the dress in some fugue state. It was an intrusive thought that kept stabbing into the back of his brain every time something strange happened around Lydia. Every time she got that faraway look in her eye but told him nothing was wrong.

                “These days?” Stiles looks Scott right in the eye. “I just feel lucky when she’s not crying.”

 

x-x-x

 

                By the time Calvin has returned with Lydia, everyone is set to go. Last minute bags are being packed into the car, tents are being folded up and everyone is triple checking to make sure they have all of their things.

                When Stiles spots their boat, he tosses his bag to Scott and jogs toward the shoreline. He had the time to think over every possible scenario and outcome. He had no idea what Lydia was thinking, and if she’d spent the day thinking about him like he had with her. He was hoping he would find some indication to her feelings by reading her expression, but it was just as inscrutable as he feared; and on top of that she looked exhausted. He wanted to hug her and apologize for leaving her with a drunk dumbass that lost her boat.

                “Hey!” His enthusiasm was a little forced. “I’m glad you’re okay.” Her eyes fail to meet him for a full ten seconds. “I mean you are, right?”

                Lydia remains quiet, gaze lingering over Stiles shoulder where Calvin was watching her, waiting for her response. She didn’t know what to do anymore. She could tell Stiles the truth, she could tell Scott and they could help. But what could they do? Werewolf strength wasn’t called for in this situation, and she wasn’t about to have her life invaded by police asking her questions about this _abuser_ and eventually being stuck in a courtroom having Calvin’s lawyer call her a deceptive little girl that wanted attention. She couldn’t go down that endless path and she couldn’t put her mother through all of that. And she especially couldn’t risk the chance that Calvin would hurt Stiles.

                If Lydia was going to take this guy down, she was going to have to do it on her own, and he couldn’t have any inkling how and when she would do it. If she was going to be building any sort of plan, she was going to first need to get through this emotional conversation and get back to Beacon Hills; because she was going to speak to Forrest and get a closer look at Calvin’s bedroom; when Calvin isn’t there, of course.

                The banshee swallows hard and she wishes she had the courage to get through this without crying, but she could feel her nose burning and her eyes stinging.

                “Lydia?” Stiles whispers worriedly.

                “Last night was a mistake,” Lydia shudders, her voice low and firm to prevent her emotion from leaking through. “It shouldn’t have happened, I’m sorry.”

                Stiles stares at her in disbelief, waiting for her to pull back with a charming smile and tell him she’s just telling a cruel joke. There was no way that she was serious after everything they said and did, not after she kissed him the way she had and clutched his body closer.

                “What are you talking about? Why?” His brow hangs low, pink lips parted like he’s misunderstanding.

                “I’m with Calvin.”

                He grunts his frustration with this heartbreaking anger-inducing female who’s been using his heart as a drum since he started learning how to write in cursive. “Bull- _shit_ , Lydia! He’s not your boyfriend, you said so yourself last night.”

                “And then when you left we had a lot of time to,” Lydia runs out of breath so she sucks in a sharp intake of cold air. She knew that he would put up a fight, and she wasn’t sure how she was going to stop herself from dropping every bit of responsibility she was supposed to have and telling him how right he is. She’s breathing hard as she picks up where she left off, “ – to _talk_ and – and we realized that…I realized that my feelings for him are…”

“Are what?” Stiles snapped, betrayal freshly cutting into his heart and icing his vocal chords. “Stronger than your feelings for me?”

“Keep it down there are werewolves nearby,” Lydia says under her breath.

“I don’t wanna keep it down, _you_ keep it down!” Stiles chomps down on his lower lip, running a hand through his slick head of hair and taking a few sloppy steps away from her. He wouldn’t feel as crappy about shouting at her if he wasn’t standing close enough to smell her, even if her scent was composed of mostly just salt water. “Why are you doing this?”

He speaks as if she’s enjoying it, like her cruelty was meant for him. She can’t blame him for that.

“Last night I told you I didn’t want to be yanked around like a marionette, you told me you would never do that to me.” He jabs the air between them, his expression withering and angry. “You made it sound like I was different, special or something.” Stiles scoffs unforgivingly. The knife cuts deep when he grates out, “You don’t care you just like being in control.”  
                It’s a phrase that will repeat endlessly in her head for the next seven days. It will repeat in his cold voice that tried so hard to mask the hurt, a punishment that she deserves for doing this to him yet again. For doing exactly what she promised she wouldn’t. He’s better off with Malia.

Lydia decides to simplify the matter, ignoring the scratching in her throat as a well-practiced illusion of calm broke over her facade. “I liked kissing you, and I’m sorry that you took it for more than it was.” As a hiccupped sob makes its way half up her throat and turns into a lump, she recognizes that she has to get away from this discussion before it tears her apart.

When she turns to walk away, Stiles’ fingers graze the top of her arm as if to stop her, but they’re gone just as quickly as they had appeared. There is nothing left to say.

Lydia focuses on the task of changing her clothes because she can’t think about what just happened or she’ll lose her mind. She can’t bear the very thought of going through a five hour car ride back to Beacon Hills, trapped with the belittling Calvin and a hurt Stiles and everyone else when she can hardly stand her _own_ existence. So she stumbles in the direction of the nearest bathroom with a bag of fresh clothing in hand, feeling the eyes of the boys responsible for her aching heart watch her with burning thoughts until she was hidden behind the trees along the path.

Stiles was not going to drop it. He wasn’t going to let it go just like that, it wasn’t that simple. No way did she completely change her mind after a couple of mindless hours with a wasted loser. If anything, it should’ve been more of a revelation for what a good idea it was to dump his ass now.

He knew he’d regret this, but his legs were moving steadily toward Calvin before her fully realized it. He’d been watching Lydia walk away too, he saw him.

“Hey!” He calls roughly, feet skidding to a halt in front of him. “What did you and Lydia talk about after we left last night?”

Calvin rolls his tongue over the roof of his mouth, giving Stiles a once over. “I can’t see how that’s your business. But while you’re here, there’s something I’ve just been itching to ask you.” His arms fold over, his chin lifting toward the air with arrogance. “Were you trying to put moves on Lydia before I got there? You two seemed pretty _cozy_ , and I thought that was _weird_ since you told me you wanted to be friends.”

Stiles is apprehensive. He wants to shove it in Calvin’s face that Lydia’s lips were all over his last night, that her desire was just as aggressive as his had been. He never would have taken things as far as they’d gone if it hadn’t been for her enthusiastic response, which only left him even more befuddled upon her rejection minutes ago. He has to know what Calvin could have said to change the tune she sang so shamelessly into the early rise of the sun, but at the same time he doesn’t want to get her in trouble. It was stupid. _He_ was stupid; for defending this heartbreaking banshee after she pulled the rug from beneath his sturdy feet, leaving him confused and sad on his knees.

“We weren’t doing anything,” he conveys, despite the brutal burst in his windpipe just to say the words.

Surprisingly enough, Calvin accepts that as an answer. “I don’t blame you for coming at me when I showed up without Lydia. You saw her boat… empty. I probably would have thought the same thing,” he confesses with guilty eyes.

Stiles is taken aback. He’d been preparing himself for a real physical confrontation here. He had the full intention of barreling over here to tell Calvin off, and in the middle of it probably tell him about Lydia saying Calvin wasn’t her boyfriend. Just to piss him off. But the dark haired teenager was being strangely understanding and it was only making Stiles feel worse.

“You would have?” He blinks a few times, coming to terms with how this topic of discussion is so calmly going. Rubbing a hand over his neck, he manages a genuine thank you before Calvin is gone, and he hadn’t even noticed his abrupt exit until another moment later. _That was a weird encounter._

 

_x-x-x_

 

                It wasn’t until they stopped at their second and final rest stop for bathroom breaks and snack pile-ups that Lydia tries talking to Stiles. Even if they can’t be together, she wants to do everything in her power to make sure he isn’t hurt by this. Getting through to him was a longshot, but if she could explain that it had nothing to do with him, that she found him to be incredible but wanted to be with Calvin… No. There was no way that she could put it that wouldn’t cause him more pain. The only reasonable thing she could think to do was apologize, and even then it was improbable that Stiles would listen to it. But she had to try.

                Lydia waited until Calvin was in the restroom to say something to him where he was currently filling the car with gas, the pump held loosely in his hands as he shakes the hose, trying to find the right angle in the fill spout to get every penny’s worth that he just spent.

                She came up behind him carefully, sliding her flip-flops along the dirt of the ground until she was beside him, feeling unusually small without her heels. It was unfortunate because her wedges gave her a confidence that flats and sandals did not, leaving her vulnerable and miniscule next to the sprouting and more than likely irate teenager.

He detected her presence immediately, his eyes very briefly flicking in her direction before returning to the pump like she was never there.

The only sign that he saw her was the tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there a moment ago, his stature more rigid where it was previously awkward and fumbling.

Lydia rocks on the heels of her feet uncomfortably, trying to work up the courage to say something or at the very least figure out what the hell she wanted to say in the first place. She’s sucking her bottom lip into her mouth like toddler with their thumb, a tactic of removing anxiety and feeling something other than worry.

“Hi.” It comes out raspy, so she clears her throat. It’s a good way to fill the silence following her comment.

His lips twist, expression unreadable.

Lydia tries again, faltering every so often as she becomes more embarrassed and humiliated as the quiet seconds wear on. “I…I just wanted to come over here to – to…” She closes her eyes tightly, arms flopping pathetically at her sides. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Stiles tightens his grip on the pump and allows his mouth to part, still refusing to look her way. “What does _that_ mean?”

He wants to know if she’s taking back everything she said about not wanting to be with him, and that fact stings Lydia more than she thought possible. She visibly flinches. “It just means that I’m sorry… And that I wish things were different.”

The meter runs out and Stiles rips the pump from the car’s spout, his force confounding his actual feelings. He shoves it back in its rightful place. Only then will he turn his attention to Lydia, his body shifting to face her. But his eyes were dark and furious. Hurt.

“Lydia,” he breathes with frustration grating through her name, his teeth pressed together. His head leans forward more, to be closer to her height so that she understands the depth of his warning. “ _Don’t_ talk to me.”

He leaves Lydia in the dust, climbing into the car to find his seat beside Malia, where she’d been waiting. Everyone else was still inside the convenience store.

Stiles demand was enough to tell Lydia that _no_ , their friendship was not okay. He was not going to forgive her, and she couldn’t hold that against him, even if it really fucking hurt. Lydia had to remind herself that whatever she was feeling was nothing compared to the betrayal Stiles had just experienced, courtesy of her stupidity and inability to make good decisions. How could she already be regretting her choice to keep him safe? She couldn’t be selfish about this. He was one of the most important people in her life and she couldn’t let anything happen to him.

 

                Stiles was in the car holding Malia’s hand, trying to ignore how wrong it felt. Not only was he feeling incredibly guilty about letting Lydia worm back into his heart like she had the night before, but Malia didn’t know about it. He could tell himself over and over again that they weren’t a couple, and that it wouldn’t be fair of her to get angry, but it would only make him a hypocrite to think that way. He felt like a terrible person because Malia was a nice girl that was just a little bit new to the way the world worked today and that was okay. She still deserved a boyfriend, someone to take care of her like she expected _him_ to.

                He could still offer her that. He could be there for her and in return she could be there for him. Malia could blanket the heartache that Lydia left behind, and maybe he could even fall in love with her. Malia hadn’t hurt him like Lydia had, she hadn’t lied to him and whispered sweet nothings into his ear just to turn around and take it all away.

                Malia’s eyes trailed over Stiles fingers where they touched hers. “I’m sorry I flipped out before. It isn’t exactly fair of me to get mad at you for kissing Lydia.” His confused eyes meet hers, wondering how she knew. “You smell like her.” His eyes are guilty now, returning back to their hands. “Don’t worry I’m not mad about it. You said so yourself, we can date other people.” Her tone indicates that although she doesn’t agree with it, she understands. “…We’re not together…” she sighs sadly.

                Stiles studies her face, searching for hint of something that told her she was lying, but he only found ingenuous innocence. He licks his lips and says the first thing that comes to his mind. “What if we were?”

                Her head raises. “What?”

                Stiles scoots forward in his seat to get closer to her, both hands squeezing hers. “What if we _were_?” His heart is stuttering along with his words. “I could be your boyfriend.”

                She misses the fact that he nearly winces when he speaks, but smiles softly. “Really?”

                He owes her this much, and there’s a real chance she might surprise him. Her ability to make him feel like the most desirable man in the world was definitely a positive of their coupling, and even if they lacked substance, they could find it along the way if they were to have a real relationship. Something that was merely sex could become something real. He could fall in love with this girl if he really tried.

                “I deserve someone who’s going to treat me right,” Stiles says with conviction. “And so do you.”

                Malia’s smile overtakes her whole face. “You finally realized that Lydia isn’t good for you?”

                He swallows hard, his eyes glassing over as he looks out the tinted window where he can see the back of Lydia’s head. She’s still standing by the gas pump, her arms wrapped around herself and the wind tossing her bright hair.

                “Yeah,” he whispers.

 

 


	12. Empty

**Empty**

_"It's the hurt I hide that fuels the fire inside me"_

\- Ray LaMontagne, "Empty"

 

Eleven

                _“You don’t care you just like being in control.”_

                Lydia admires the coffee stain on her shirt as she shoves her bottom drawer shut, sitting on the back of her legs on the soft carpet rubbing against the tips of her toes. She wasn’t even going to bother changing. It was 7:00 in the morning and she was already being harassed by the memories of yesterday, one of the longest days she’d had in a while (and that was really saying something.). Guilt was eating her away like maggots do a corpse, and her restless night filled with nightmares was a consistent reminder of what she’d done.

                She’d wake up in the middle of the night sticking to her bed, covered in a thick sheen of sweat with the image of Stiles’ hurt face fuzzy in her mind, something she’d seen just seconds ago in a hazy dream. Eventually the call of sleep that she couldn’t answer became too difficult to bear so she stole a sleeping pill from her mother’s washroom and swallowed it down with a cold glass of lemon water. It was only then she stayed down, sleeping until the blaring of her morning alarm noisily filled the room.

                Deciding to have a cup of coffee to start the day off with some energy turned out to be a bad idea when she got distracted and filled it just a little too high, causing it to splash against her top when she tried to pick it up. Her own appliances were against her now.

                The vibration of her phone is a welcome distraction; anything to get rid of the depressing thoughts sneaking around in the nest of her brain. That snarky little voice that used to silently laugh at mismatched clothing and faux designer labels was now laughing at Lydia; and it never failed to remind her that she was a failure.

She knew it was going to be Scott so she didn’t even bother checking the ID. There was no one else that would bother calling her, probably not Kira, not Malia and especially not Stiles.

                “Hey Scott,” she tries to sound cheery but falls short. She’s too worn out, and pulling on the bags under her eyes as she stared into the mirror was only making it worse. She immediately digs through her bag for that magic little marker and starts applying concealer underneath; the perfect mask for her weariness. It’s smart that she avoids looking her reflection directly in the eyes, because she already knows that the only thing she’ll find there is shame.

                “Hey, Lydia,”

He’s also lacking in enthusiasm and she notices just as much. “What’s going on?”

                “Ahh, I’m just calling to let you know that we got the results back on the blood test, you know, on your –,” he clears his throat uncomfortably, “ah - Allison’s dress.”

                “What?” Lydia shakes her head. That wasn’t exactly what she was expecting, but it was better than their usual morning banter. She was usually too tired for it. “When did you find this out?”

                “Stiles called me ten minutes ago so now I’m calling you. Don’t worry, Lydia, I’m not leaving you out of the loop.”

                Lydia shifts her weight to the opposite foot. He was an idiot for thinking that was the reason she wanted to know when he learned this new information. He was worried she was going to flip out again because she was so sensitive about being left out last time. She’d be angry about that later, because she was currently focused on more important minor details, like the person on the phone with her right now and the reason he was that person. “Why didn’t _he_ call me?” She’s well aware of how bothered she sounds, but Scott is always caught up in pack drama so she might as well involve him where it concerns his best friend. How much did Stiles tell him about their camping trip, anyway?

                Scott sighs shortly, probably unsure of what to say. He couldn’t exactly tell her that Stiles had asked him to call her as a favor. Begged might even be a better word. He didn’t know they were fighting until Stiles’ request was made and that was strange enough, especially when they seemed so perfectly content over the weekend. Actually, they were better than that. Stiles was completely glowing and the topic of Lydia had been off limits until they had some kind of “talk”; just the two of them. Apparently the talk had been had and Stiles didn’t like what Lydia had to say, because he didn’t even want to talk to or about her _at all_ now. As always, Scott was left in the dark about the details of their issues with one another. He considered asking Lydia about it, but now wasn’t the time.

                “He got busy,” Scott utters pathetically. It’s the best he can come up with right now without directly lying to his other best friend. He couldn’t take sides and hoped they would understand that, but the shuffling on the other end of the line was giving him paranoia that suggested otherwise.

                “Okay…” Lydia already knew what that meant, but she won’t push the topic any further. There are other urgent matters to be discussed.

She takes a calming breath to prepare herself for whatever he might be about to tell her about the results. She’d been pretty successful in keeping it in the back of her mind over the weekend, but that had only been because there were so many other problems to focus on. “What was it?”

                “It was just an animal,” he’s just as puzzled by the fact as she is to hear it. “A _deer’s_ blood, to be more specific. Isn’t that nuts?”

                “To say the least,” Lydia mutters, absorbing this new information. She’s relieved that it isn’t human, but she was hoping that by getting the blood test back they would have some real answers by now. There was still nothing, and the news that the blood belonged to an animal did little to comfort her. It was just another question to add to the list of concerns that left her shrugging her shoulders and unsatisfactorily learning to let things go. It wasn’t a math problem that she had the wrong formula to; it wasn’t a dilemma between two multiple choice answers. She was stuck in a situation that couldn’t be solved, and for the first time Lydia Martin was stumped.

                “Is that everything?” She mumbles, aggravation something she’s grown used to at this point. Whether it was caused by one of her friends or Beacon Hills and its ridiculous mysteries, she knows it well.

                “Ahh,” Scott pauses on that note and drawls, like there’s something burning his tongue that needed to be addressed. “Shouldn’t we be worried about the fact that someone broke into your house and snuck a deer’s blood into your room?” It almost sounds sarcastic. It should have been more obvious than it was that this was a serious problem.

                Lydia’s fists involuntarily clench, the nail of her thumb digging into the sleeve of her olive shirt and widening the space between the yarn threading sewn there to leave a small hole.

                “Or we could be worried about our dear friend Allison getting unceremoniously dug up from her grave and placed on the Nemeton like a sacrifice!?” Lydia was surprised by her harsh shout, almost accusatory.

                The alpha was quiet for only a second, but he was firm when he spoke. “How ‘bout we worry about both?”

                Lydia knew a rhetorical question when it knocked on her door. She could picture what his face looked like right now, his eyebrow ridged and low like his forehead carried the weight of the world; a puppy dog pout that pleaded her to cooperate with him; a look that only he could give her.

                When he hears her sigh he gives in, “How about we talk about this in person? I’m giving you a ride to school, right? I can be there in ten minutes.”

                “No,” Lydia corrected quickly. “Actually, I’m gonna be late today.”

                She can almost hear him frown. “What for?”

                She scoffs, letting out the most annoyed breath of air she can fake because she doesn’t want to actually answer that question. “Scott, I don’t have time to chit-chat with you about my comings and goings. I’ll see you when I see you.”

                He’s reluctant. “Okay, but we really do need to talk.”

                “ – And Scott? Don’t tell the others I’m not at school. If they ask, just tell them I’m around.”

                “ _Around?_ ” Scott snorted. “I’ll lie for you, but you’re telling me what’s going on later.”

                Lydia’s lips involuntarily puckered into a pout, but she quietly agreed and ended the phone call. She’d worry about what her excuse would be later, and how she was going to slip past his keen werewolf senses that enabled him to read a lie whenever he wanted. So far, lying to him about Calvin had been easy because he had no reason to believe she was lying. If he had a reason to listen to the rate of her heartbeat, he’d do it in a split second without even telling her.

                But the plan for this afternoon was simple. While the rest of her pack cluelessly fluttered around the halls of their school she would show up at Calvin’s house with the intention of finding answers. She wasn’t sure what she expected to see there that could be so revealing, not when he was just a teenage boy. There had to be something more there, especially when every time she looked at him she saw a secret lingering beneath the surface, one that was dying to get out. Meeting Forrest had been suspicious enough. At the time, he only seemed a little awkward and rough around the edges. Now that Lydia knew what she knew about Calvin, she could talk to Forrest about it. He had to know about Calvin’s problems, especially when he’d cautioned Lydia about him; even if his warning had been more of a plea not to leave his side.

                Maybe Forrest would do her a solid and let her snoop around Calvin’s room for herself. If he didn’t, then she’d just have to break in at a time where neither was home. She was definitely willing to do that, but she might not be able to do it alone.

 

One step at a time.

 

_x-x-x_

 

                There was a hollow crater burrowed deeply into the left side of Stiles Stilinski’s chest. It was aching at a consistent rate where it would vanish for a few short hours, just long enough to make him think it would stop for good, and then it would come rolling back with an even worse pressure with a conjoined feeling of emptiness. He first noticed the gap in his chest when he’d been freed of the nogitsune’s rein, a scar the demon left behind that would never leave him. It was a powerful reminder of the not-so distant past and the dark corners in his mind he never thought he’d find.

                Sometimes the aching turned into a dull throbbing sensation, and that happened when someone did something horrible and hurt his feelings in a brutal way. The most recent time, the one that was currently weighing most heavy on his mind would be Lydia Martin and her ability to chew up his hear t, roll her tongue over the veins, and then spit it back out with little more than a grunt. She played him for the last time and now he was done. He was completely disillusioned with her, and now it was over. It was in her best interest that she stay as far away from him as she possibly could today, otherwise he might say something he’d later regret.

                Of course they’d still be sitting at the same lunch table, only this time it would be filled with awkward tension.

Only she isn’t there for lunch… but Calvin is.

“Hey Stiles!”

Malia is extra enthusiastic when she sees him today, because now they’re together. She bounds forward to wrap her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him over in her haste to get to him. Her lips on his are unexpected, and he almost forgets not to pull back.

“Watch out for my tray,” he says quickly, jumping back when her mouth finally releases his. “Today’s gyro day.” He sits down with his food, ignorant of the disappointed twitch in Malia’s lips.

“Tell me about it!” Scott sucks a wiggly piece of meat through his teeth, lowering his head to avoid Kira’s mock-disapproving lift of an eyebrow.

“Where’s Lydia?” Calvin chimes in; breaking what Stiles presumed was a long period of silence. He had a tendency to make every day social situations extremely uncomfortable with his stoic presence. He had an annoying habit of only talking to or about Lydia. It’s one of the reasons he was so hard to befriend.

Scott’s eyes dart upwards and his mouth opens to spew out an automatic response. “She’s around.”

“Well she’s not _here_ ,” The bushy haired outsider pointed out. “She always sits with you guys during lunch.”

Stiles is bored of this topic of conversation so he drowns out Scott’s rambling answer and instead focuses on his tiny box of whole milk. He had a system where he would only drink at certain intervals during his meal, otherwise the small box was never enough and he was left dehydrated after swallowing down meats with freezer burn and chicken that probably should have been thrown out sooner. Scott thought it was stupid since he first came up with it in fourth grade, but it actually worked. Two bites of his gyro and then one sip of milk. You can’t argue with a system that works. Especially when the cheap cafeteria ladies won’t let you take more than one.

“Stiles?” Calvin flexes a finger in his face. “Have you seen Lydia?”

“ _No_ ,” he snaps distastefully. He purposely got lost in his own thoughts with the intention of staying there until they were talking about something other than _her_ but the same bastard responsible for this mess was forcing him to listen to it. “What does it matter? She’s not here, okay?” He takes an angry bite out of his food and almost regrets it when it proves to be a little too much for the size of his mouth. He coughs out a thick piece of bread but swallows down the meat with vigor.

Calvin grimaced at the unwanted attitude. “Okay, well, I was gonna invite her to my house tonight… It’s my brother’s birthday and we’re gonna have dinner and maybe a drink or two.” He doesn’t even notice the way everyone is staring at him “Anyway, I also wanted to invite _you_ Stiles.”

Stiles’ face drops and he draws back hastily. “Me?” His eyes flit toward Scott to see if he is making any sense of this, but he shrugs just as confused. “You want me to have dinner with you, your girlfriend and your brother?” His eyebrows are low and waiting.

“Well don’t look at me like you think it’s weird.”

“Uhh, it _is_ weird.” Stiles scoff and exchanges wary glances with Malia.

                “It’s not like that,” Calvin rolls his eyes and calmly explains. “I don’t want my brother to feel weird about it just being me and her, and he doesn’t have any guy friends or anything… I thought it would be nice if you could help him chill out. We’ll have some beers and hang.” He drums his fingers along the table. “Honestly, he has _no_ friends and I don’t want his birthday to be miserable. You know how to have fun, Stiles.”

                Stiles isn’t sure how to respond in the slightest. He’s certain that he looks just as uncertain as he feels, because at this point he’s at least partly convinced that Calvin genuinely wants him to suffer. He wanted him to watch him flirt with Lydia in his comfortable little home without anything to do but sit there and deal with it. It would be three hours of hell and the only other person there to distract himself with would be the more melancholy awkward version of Calvin, if that were evil possible. “Yeah I do, but I don’t think that’s a great idea.” He’s avoiding, but Calvin is having none of it.

                “Why not?” Calvin flops his arms against his sides. “You said there was nothing going on between you and Lydia, and if there isn’t then why should this be a problem for you?”

                Kira can feel Scott’s foot grow rigid where it presses against hers under the table.

                Stiles blows a breath of air, closing his eyes lightly. “Jesus,” he mumbles. “I’ll come to your little dinner.” he nods toward his alpha. “If Scott comes too.”

                “I don’t want to overwhelm my brother with strangers,” Calvin says apologetically. “Just you.”

                Stiles sucks his teeth. _Of course._

 

_x-x-x_

                Standing on the front stoop of Calvin’s home, Lydia kept one hand firmly on the pink clutch handbag her nails were currently digging into and the other frozen in the shape of a fist against the door, mentally going over what exactly she was going to say before she finally knocked. Part of her was hoping that Forrest wasn’t home, that she could slither through an open window and search Calvin’s room, find something incriminating and then get out before anyone ever knew she was there. It was the safest way to go about this.

                Just as she lifted up her fist to wrap it against the hard wood, the door was forced wide open to reveal a particularly haggard looking Forrest. Lydia looked on in scrutiny, eyeing the beer in his hand before the clock had even struck noon.

                “Lydia.” He wasn’t surprised. “You’ve been standing in front of my door for ten minutes. I was starting to think you were asleep.”

                “With my eyes open standing up?” She blinked at him, trying to hold back the attitude she felt coming on. If she was going to get him to work with her then he was going to have to see her as more than a nuisance to distract his brother with.

                “Stranger things have happened.” He tips his head at her. “You know Calvin’s at school right now… So why aren’t you?”

                Lydia looks him straight in the eyes. “I was hoping we could talk.”

                Forrest puckers his lips in thoughtful uncertainty.

                “Please. It’s about your brother.”

                They share intense eye contact for a few long uncomfortable seconds until he mellows slightly and finally steps aside. She isn’t sure if that’s an invitation until he gestures toward the inside.

                “Come on if you’re coming,” he sighs, already aware that this conversation was going to be difficult on him.

 

They stand awkwardly in the living room, him shuffling his feet and Lydia studying him like a science project. When he grows tired of her observing, he collapses onto the couch and continues to sip his beer as if she isn’t even there. He’s waiting for her to say something.

                She lets out a short breath of air as she motions to sit beside him, her legs pressed firmly together and her hands clasped across her lap. They sat as virtual opposites, Forrest tall with sloppy legs stretched outwards and Lydia folding into herself with posture that was no less than perfect.

“Calvin’s not who I thought he was.” She’s not sure how else to put it, and the statement remains true. “He’s always getting angry and he does things that...” her voice caught when she tried to continue speaking, so she cleared her throat and gave it another shot. “He’s aggressive.”

The muscles of Forrest’s jaw were jumping, giving way to just how stressed he was to hear this information that Lydia was certain he already knew about. “What do you want _me_ to do about that?” He’s pissed off, made evident by the hand locked so tightly around his beer and his eyebrows rimmed with the desire to not be hearing any of this right now. She should have kept her mouth shut.

“You knew he was going to get like this, you warned me about his behavior and told me not to give up on him.” Her eyes wildly examine his, searching for empathy or understanding of some sort. “How can I not when he’s the way he is?” she narrows her eyes and pushes a little harder. “Did you know he’s been blackmailing me?” Her stare is heedful and unwavering, her voice even-toned and determined.

She knew she would have to be this way if she wanted Forrest to talk more openly about his brother. It was hard to believe it would be easy to convince him to betray Calvin in this way, but the older man was proving to be an awkward and uncomfortable person in general. If she was unrelenting and refused to back down, he’d have no choice but to be honest with her.

Forrest grunts, pushing himself up from the couch. “I think it’s time you go.” his eyes sparkle but remain difficult to read. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Tonight?” Lydia shakes her head in confusion. “What’s tonight?”

“Maybe if you’d gone to school today you’d know by now,” he quips with a twist of his hands along the neck of the bottle in his clasping grip. When she expectantly tilts her head at him with raised brows, he elaborates. “Today’s my birthday. Calvin insisted I not waste it and said he’d bring you and another friend over later and we’d have some dinner and…hangout.” He shifts his weight to the opposite foot, clearly afflicted by her presence.

Lydia’s gaze lowers to the floor, understandably distressed. If she even tried to say no when Calvin finally asked her, that whole “blackmail” thing would just come back and smack her in the face once again. As the familiar tingle of panic she’d grown so accustomed to swells deep in her stomach and stirs in her brain, she finally blurts it out. “Why didn’t you tell me he was so violent?”

Forrest’s long form is still like the quiet air. When his lips finally part, his eyes are avoiding. “I warned you that he was odd.”

As if the statement is too much to physically contain herself, Lydia shoots up to her feet, a scoff brushing past her lips. “It’s more than that and you know it.” She points an accusing finger at him. “ _You_ told me to stand by his side even when things got bad. Why would you do that? Calvin needs psychological help, not a girlfriend!” She’s seething now, all of her previous unexpressed anger released tenfold. His brother should be taking care of him, getting him a psychiatrist and evaluating whatever mental illness he might have. No normal person should be as quick to trigger and intimidating as he is.

“He’s my little brother and you’re a stranger,” Forrest spits angrily, showing a side Lydia didn’t know existed. “Whose side did you think I would be on?” At her expression he realizes that he’s shouting and looks toward the farthest corner of the room, somewhere her eyes can’t haunt his. “He’s got issues, okay? I know that. Our parents weren’t exactly perfect role models either. The kid means well and I just want him to be happy.” Quaking, Forrest places his hands on his knees to brace himself, his alcohol long forgotten where it sits undisturbed on the table. “He’d never hurt you, Lydia. Not really.”

Her eyes burn. “We’ve surpassed hurting, Forrest.”

                His jaw is tight, his mind made up. “I can’t help you.”

                “I don’t expect you to,” she whispers brokenly. “I would never expect you to do something that hurts your brother in some way… not directly.” She waits until his gaze lifts to hers. “Just let me take a look at his room.”

                Forrest put his fingers to his lips thoughtfully, eyebrows furrowed at the comment that came from left-field. “Why?”

                Lydia’s arms flop to her sides, the desperation she feels more obvious than she wants to let on. “I don’t know,” she sighs. “Maybe I’ll find something, see something that helps me understand him a little better or figure out how to get him… out of my life. I wouldn’t hurt him, I swear to you, but I can’t have him around me.” She hopes her argument is convincing and is thankful that he isn’t a werewolf who can hear her quickened heart pumping frantically in his ears. God knows she can feel it so painfully twisting in her chest.

                Forrest almost laughs and Lydia can’t understand why.

                “What’s so funny?” She queries, shock molded into her open expression.

                “You’re free to _try_.” When she continues to stare blankly at him, he rolls his eyes and remarks, “Calvin keeps a nifty little lock on his door. No one goes in our out without his saying so and he keeps the key in his pocket at all times.”

                Her face twists in disbelief.

                “Go on and look for yourself.”

                She does. Her fingers graze the cold metallic texture and she tugs on the lock, hoping that by some miraculous odds Calvin had not bothered to randomize the combination before the last time he left. It jiggles but remains in its solid hold, the grievance making Lydia blow out a breath of frustrated air.

                His eyes are still and very flat, even though his proclamation is one of petulant sarcasm as he shortly tilts his head at her. “Told you.”

                “Hmm,” Lydia studies him carefully. It’s probably dumb to ask but the question is burning a hole into the tip of her tongue. “What if you helped me sneak it away from him tonight?”

                Forrest inhaled sharply, looking away from her. “I’m not going to help you, no way.” He sounds stern, unmovable.

                Lydia’s lips tug into a disappointing grimace.

                “Look,” he sighs, growing eager to get her out of his house. “If you can get the key from him on your own, take a look at his room or whatever, I won’t try to stop you and I won’t rat you out either.” his eyes are dark and certain, truth stirring somewhere beneath the surface. “But I can’t help you.”

                The Easley family has a lot of secrets. It’s something that Lydia decides as she considers Forrest’s bargain and briefly wanders why he wouldn’t immediately tattle on her. He obviously cared very much for his brother, but he was also aware of his tendencies. There were things that he wanted Lydia to know but couldn’t directly tell her, that much she had figured out. But if she was going to get into Calvin’s room without him knowing, she was going to need help.

                An abrupt fake smile appears on Lydia’s face, molding her cheekbones and giving her a sharper and more angular appearance. “What friend did you say Calvin was bringing tonight?”

                And when the next syllable slipped so easily from Forrest’s lips, Lydia’s stomach drops so violently that she’s sure she’ll be feeling it weighing her down for the next few days. The spot under her arms grows warmer as a nervous sweat tackles her body temperature and raises its internal valve. Her lips become dry and her eyes are frozen where they stare blankly at the zipper on Forrest’s coat. _Of course Calvin would do this._ He was trying to overpower her; to let him know that he was dominant.

                Something more frightening occurred to her; and it hit her with such a rush that it added a sickening amount of nausea to her already crippling worry. How the hell was she going to convince Stiles to help her sneak into Calvin’s room, and what exactly was her excuse for it going to be?

 

_x-x-x_

                The most prominent question stirring in Lydia’s head was the one that wandered why Stiles would accept an invitation to have dinner with the two Easley’s to begin with. If he was planning on making her miserable for what she did then so be it, but it can’t be tonight. If he wants to hold a grudge against her for the rest of their high school lives he can plan to do so until she figures out how to fix everything, but until then she won’t be able to figure out what’s wrong with Calvin without him. She needed to know the reasons that she felt so compelled to keep her mouth shut, why his human threats could be so much more frightening than the claws of her best friend.

                There was an itch that she couldn’t scratch, a tingling sensation that crawled in her brain that told her that Calvin was more than just a boy. There was no evidence to suggest that this feeling was right (if she could even be sure what that feeling meant) but she knew she had to be careful with him because he was a ticking time bomb with no off switch, no way to disarm him without getting control behind the scenes. If she was going to take the power away from him in this _relationship_ then she was going to have to be sneaky about it. She needed that key.

                She goes into school as originally planned, if not a little bit later than she initially wanted to be. As expected, Calvin flags her down just before 6th period when he spots her in the hall.

                “I’ve been looking for you all day,” he says. “Why weren’t you at lunch?”

                “Sorry, I was with one of my teachers… catching up on a late assignment.” Her shoulder bumps against his as they walk side by side. Her eyes flicker toward the clock on the wall. She’s going to be late for gym if she doesn’t get going now and she has to talk to Stiles. If Calvin didn’t hurry up and invite her to this _stupid_ dinner -

                “ _You_ handed something in late? Hard to believe.”

                Her distracted gaze remains in the distance, her voice drawling and inattentive. “Yeah that happens sometimes.”

                “Uhh,” Calvin pulls his bottom lip into his mouth. “ _Anyway_ , it’s Forrest’s birthday and…”

                Lydia drowns out the rest of his invitation, waiting until his lips stop moving before she burbles out an automatic response. “Sounds great, see you tonight.” He could have said anything and she would have answered that same way, so she was lucky enough to watch his lips lift and his eyes smile to show her that he’d asked just what she thought he might. He ducks his head as he moves past her, uttering a brief goodbye and something about seven o’clock.

                Lydia changes into a pair of mud brown shorts and a spandex orange top, spending the least amount of time in the locker room than she’d ever spent before. Usually she took her time in there, sitting on the bench and texting for as long as she possibly can to delay the inevitable. It was true, she hated gym. She hated running the track and getting sweaty and smelly. It wasn’t like you were allowed to use the locker room showers unless you were staying after school for a sport and it wasn’t fair. Nothing good came out of gym. Not the B.O., not the frizzy hair and certainly not the clothing you had to wear.

                Only, today’s gym class was worse than all of the others combined, because now she had to somehow convince Stiles to do _her_ a favor without expecting an explanation. Stiles Stilinski. The one that was still livid with her and probably would be for a while. She hadn’t even thought about what she was going to say because she didn’t want to sound rehearsed. He’d be able to detect that.

                She hears a classmate ask one of the coaches what they’d be doing today, and upon hearing the words “partner activity” she makes a bee-line for her alpha. He’s lowered onto the floor, tying his sneakers.

                “Hey Scott,” she leans up against the wall beside him, her eyes scanning the door to the boy’s locker room and watching for Stiles. There were boys pouring out, but none of them had that familiar mole-littered face.

                “Your heart is beating really fast,” he says without looking up. “You want something from me.”

                Lydia scowls. “You’re not supposed to listen to that.”

                “What else am I supposed to do when you won’t even talk to me?” He asks blatantly, showing no discomfort to be this tactless.

                The banshee squirms but doesn’t answer. “We’re doing partner activity today.” She says it like he should know what that means.

                Scott deadpans, only caring enough to shrug one shoulder. “So?” He moves to a standing position, watching the expressions flash across Lydia’s face like she was a million different people in one moment.

                “ _So_ ,” she emphasizes, “I need to be with Stiles.”

                Scott presses his tongue between his teeth. “Interesting choice of words.”

                She smacks his arm. “I’m serious. Don’t ask questions, I just need to talk to him.”

                “What do you expect me to say to him? That I don’t want to be his partner?”

                “No, just tell him you already promised someone else.”

                Scott groans at how complicated this has become. “ _Who_?”

                “I don’t know, Greenberg.” She pushes him away. “Go now, ask him to be your partner.”

                “ _Greenberg_?” Scott’s face twists like he’s tasted something foul and expired. He doesn’t fight Lydia’s persistence because he knows better than to say no to her, making his way over to Greenberg with slumped shoulders.

Lydia smiles for her victory, but it’s short lived as she sees Stiles leaving the locker room, telling a joke to one of his fellow lacrosse players and earning a few chuckles in response. She watches him brush a hand through the top of his spikey gelled hair, moving a few thick pieces out of their proper position and ruffling it. He’s almost adorable in a pair of gym shorts and a grey cotton top with maroon sleeves that were the mid-length of his arm. A blush creeps up her neck when she realizes that she’s completely checking him out.

She watches him approach Scott, his face contouring in disbelief when Scott gestures toward Greenberg with an apology on his lips. Stiles’ arms flop to his side and he snorts a “whatever”, believing none other than that Scott just didn’t want to be around him. It wasn’t all together uncommon, just unexpected after they seemed to get past their last bump in the road.

When he moves away from them to search for another friend to waste time with, Lydia bounds toward him. He catches her in his line of sight almost immediately, jerking his head away and only bothering to look back when she’s a few unnerving feet away, further proven by the strong scent of lotion wafting from her and into his nostrils. She tended to go overboard on the lotion right before gym, as if it would close her pores and stop her from perspiring.

“Looks like we both need a partner!” She declares cheerily, swaying from the heels of her feet to her toes.

“Yeah, I’m still looking,” he retorts, sarcasm dripping from his words as he continues to scan the students crowding around in the gymnasium. His lips turn in annoyance; he doesn’t like any of these bottom feeders.

Lydia uses one hand to pick at the nail polish on the other, a nervous habit. “Calvin told me he invited you to his place tonight for Forrest’s birthday… that was really nice of you to say yes.” Her voice is soft, she’s trying to avoid a fight. She needs to be on his good side to guilt him into helping.

“I did it as a favor to him,” Stiles remarks, spotting a familiar classmate in the crowd that he got along with well. “Hey! C’mere!” he calls, gesturing with his hand. The other boy shakes his hand to tell him he can’t, and Stiles grumbles in response. _So much for getting away from Lydia._

“Right,” Lydia doesn’t sound so convincing. “But I figure he’s probably not your favorite person at this particular time so I thought _maybe…_ you did it for me.” She almost winces when she says it; her confidence is not what it used to be. Thankfully, her acting skills faired far better.

Stiles releases the tongue he’d been harshly biting into, releasing the most delicate breath of air Lydia had ever seen. During a slight change in posture he shook his head to himself, a movement that would have been invisible to Lydia if she weren’t been so observant. He still won’t look at her, his eyes squinting somewhere in the distance like he’s looking for something (even though they both know he damn well _isn’t_ ). He’ll use any excuse not to be looking her in the face right now. He’s not ready to do that yet. _Shit_. How the hell is he going to get through tonight?

One of his hands dips under the collar of his shirt to scratch a sensitive spot on his collar bone, focused on maintaining an even-tone as his mouth opens again. He’s fully capable of being disinterested and coolly ignoring her if it meant that she would stop pushing him so much. Yes, he understood that she felt guilty and still wanted to be friends with him, but he couldn’t possibly grant her something he can’t possibly give her. Not when he’s still so angry, and especially not when she refuses to give him a real answer about her decision to be with Calvin. Stiles prided himself in being a teenage investigator, someone who made connections from the victim to the suspect, a crime solver without any actual expertise. Yet for some incomprehensible reason, he can’t ever figure out what’s happening in Lydia’s head these days.

“Yeah, well you’re not exactly my favorite person either,” he says thickly. “So I wouldn’t count on that either.”

Lydia bites back an insult. That kind of talk isn’t going to be helping _anyone_ and the last thing she wanted was for him to waltz away from her in the middle of her plea. She chooses to ignore his justified amount of attitude and continue on her mission.

“You know, I’m actually kind of glad you’re coming.”

His face jumps in surprise, slicing through the mask of impassive carelessness and showing a spark of vulnerability. Stiles shoves it back resolutely and scrutinizes the strawberry blonde of his dreams and nightmares. “Why is that, exactly..?”

Her heart skips a painful beat because she has to word this right. She chews fervently on her lower lip, studying his face as he studies hers. She opens her mouth to speak and – the gym teacher blows his whistle.

Stiles glances toward the bin his classmates are ruthlessly grabbing from at the instruction of their teacher. “I have to get a ball. I’ll be right back,” he gives Lydia a once-over and with smugly curled lips adds a necessary, “ _partner_.”

The word skips in her head like a broken record, perfect repetition said in the most _Stiles_ way. She hated it as much as she loved it.

She’s tugging on the ends of her hair when he returns, lifting an eyebrow at him when he stands there without doing or saying anything. She gestures toward the ball in his hand.

“Are you gonna toss that thing or are you gonna help me braid my hair?” She queries jeeringly.

His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek; Lydia can see it rolling along in annoyance. He shrugs loosely, bouncing the ball off the floor hard enough to nearly whip her in the face. She lurches back to avoid the collision and a possibly bumped nose.

“Try to be a little more careful, yeah?” She grits out between tightened teeth and a vibrating jaw. He’s trying to rile her up. It’s working.

He gives her the side-eye, scoffing gently. “I’m not even gonna say it,” he says, pushing the thought aside and moving to scoop up the ball where it was making its escape. Even the inanimate object didn’t want to listen to their sniping.

“Say what?” She challenges, taking a few delicate steps forward. God, she’d feel a lot less stupid if she were wearing stilettos and not squaring off with his shoulder blades. Even he finds it comedic.

                Stiles’ tongue slides along the back of his teeth. “Maybe if you weren’t so short I wouldn’t have to worry about the rate and velocity at which I throw a _ball_ ,” he declares, snarky lips twisted bitterly.

                Lydia gapes. “How dare you!?” she pokes his chest with a pointed finger. “You know I’m sensitive about my height.”

                _Yeah_. Stiles remembered that conversation. He remembered trying to reassure her by ghosting his fingers along the pale fresh of her arm and pouting his lips at her. He remembered what he said to actually make her snort a laugh, playfully hit him, and then ultimately hug him. _“But you’re an adorable little cotton tail.”_

_“If you get to call me that, then you’re a beanstalk.”_

_“Would that make Scott, Jack?”_

_“Does your best friend often climb you like a monkey?”_

Lydia seemed to be stuck in the memory as well, her bleary eyes toward the wooden floor and her lips inverted and her cheeks rosy.

                Stiles clears his throat to wash away the landfill of sadness that they were both caught up in. He didn’t know why she looked so sullen about it, anyway. This was her fault. If she wanted to be with him then they’d be together right now and they wouldn’t be looking back on sweet memories like they’d never happen again. If she really loved him, all she had to do was say it.

                “Stiles…”

                But those aren’t the next words out of her lips. As many times as he watches something akin to _something_ like love flicker in her eyes when she’s looking right at him; as many times as he sees those almond green eyes and thinks _this is it_ it never is; and in the world that Stiles lives in now, it’s never going to be.

                So he doesn’t want to hear her apologize. He doesn’t want her to lessen the blow by saying it gently. He doesn’t want her comforting hand touching his shoulder whenever Calvin’s in the room; that reminder that says “it could’ve been you, but it’s not.”

                “You know what, Lydia?” He husks, “don’t even bother.”

                Her eyelids flutter quickly at the unexpected comment. She reels back to create some more distance between them and coughs quietly. “ – you still have the ball,” she finishes awkwardly. She could see how desperately he wanted to drop it before he even spoke and so she’d already planned to. Now they were both tense, and even worse, she was going to have to figure out how to get into Calvin’s room by herself (at least for now). Whether Stiles like it or not, he was going to help her, be it last minute or otherwise.

                While their thoughts are heavy, the air between them is still.

“Oh,” Stiles says meekly. “Right.” He tosses it to her.

 

                Scott uses his plastic hockey stick to smack a rubber blue ball into Greenburg’s goal, managing a victorious chuckle despite it being a 40-minute gym activity. A friend pats the back of his hand against his shoulder.

                “Hey man, what are Stiles and Lydia doing?”

                Scott instantly has a million guesses, but none of them are right. His eyebrows scrunch in confusion at the sight. “I think they’re playing catch.”

                “They know they’re supposed to be playing the game, right?”

                Scott lets out a hoot of laughter and shakes his shoulders. His eyebrows shoot upwards and his eyes twinkle knowingly. “Definitely not.”

Although he wasn’t aware that they were distracted by their petty fighting and not the hearts in their eyes, Scott was in no way surprised by their obliviousness to the rest of the world. They made an excellent duo when it came to solving the seemingly unsolvable and cracking past cases wide open, but if they were to do something as daring as make eye contact, the rest of the world would melt away somewhere in that burning stare. It was a connection that ran deep, even when they were arguing. He didn’t know if they would ever be together, or even if they should be, but he knew that no matter what they would always be tied together in some form or another.

Scott was more observant than his pack gave him credit for – at least sometimes.

 


	13. You Could Be Happy

**You Could Be Happy**

_You could be happy and I won't know_

_But you weren't happy the day I watched you go_

_And all the things I wish I had not said are played in loops 'til it's madness in my head._

_Is it too late to remind you how we were?_

_But not our last days of silence, screaming, blur_

_Most of what I remember makes me sure_

_I should have stopped you from walking out the door_

_You could be happy, I hope you are._

_You made me happier than I'd been by far_

_Somehow everything I own smells of you_

_and for the tiniest moment it's all not true_

_Do the things that you always wanted to,_

_Without me to hold you back don't think just do._

_More than anything I want to see you, girl,_

_Take a glorious bite of the whole world._

\- Snow Patrol, "You Could Be Happy"

 

Twelve

 

Lydia drove to Calvin's house without even the radio to keep her company. It was surprising how little she used that singing little box anymore. It used to be part of her daily routine when driving to school at the first break of sunset. She'd listen to podcasts and radio shows and roll her eyes whenever they performed one of those so obviously faked prank phone calls.

When Scott finally got his own car, he started picking her up in the morning and she didn't need it anymore. It was nice not to have the responsibility of driving every day and those few minutes of peaceful conversation before being thrown into the lion's den of society _(highschool)_. She just started driving herself again after Scott completely forgot about her and she nearly walked home in the rain. But she'd run into Calvin and he'd taken her home. If only Scott had been responsible and been there when he was supposed to, maybe then she wouldn't have opened the floodgates into a relationship with this hot-headed raven-haired mystery.

But the blame game had no place in her life now; there was no room for it.

She pulls into the driveway at the same time as a familiar powder blue jeep, cursing her timing as she shifts the gear into 'park' and switches off the gas. She takes one daring glance at the occupants in the other vehicle – wait a minute. _Occupants?_ The sheriff is sitting in the passenger seat and there's a woman in the back with ombre brown-blonde short hair. He brought his father and Malia with him.

Lydia's chest tightens but she clears her head with a quick shake, shrinking into her seat. _Why would he bring them?_ _Did Calvin know he brought them?_

She unbuckles her seat belt and moves swiftly out of the car, straightening out her skirt and rustling her hair as she looks into the rear view mirror. She didn't want to appear too frazzled. No one needed to know she had weaknesses; more than they already did, anyway.

Lydia's face jumps in mock-surprise as she pretends to notice the jeep for the first time. She saunters toward the pair while putting a hefty amount of pressure on the heel of her shoe each time it rubbed the pavement. She had her stilettos now, which meant her confidence was currently soaring, and what started as a spark of annoyed curiosity at spotting Malia was building to a steady burn.

"Malia," her eyebrows raise and she ignores the pair of eyes burning into the side of her skull as Stiles scowls at her very presence. "I didn't know you were coming."

"We're just dropping him off," the Werecoyote says, much to Lydia's relief. Her shoulders immediately relax, but she's still guarded and closely scrutinizing the other girl. One could even mistake it for jealousy.

"Take good care of her," Stiles tells his father firmly.

"I think I'll be fine," his girlfriend smiles at his concern.

"I meant my baby," he corrects, running a comforting hand over the hood of his jeep. His father motions to take the keys but Stiles abruptly pulls back. "If she has a single scratch on her by the time I get home you're grounded until retirement."

The sheriff shifts his jaw and almost tilts his head. He snatches the keys from his son and points a firm finger. "Watch it." Then he nods Lydia's way. "You'll give him a ride home later?" He sounds almost expectant. It's not like he has any suspicions about their imploding friendship.

Lydia's hands involuntarily tremble where they grasp her purse not a moment sooner than when Stiles' eyes meet hers. "Of course," she says meekly.

The sheriff's eyes brighten. "Great. You sure you don't wanna stay with them, Malia?"

Lydia's eyes dart to the Werecoyote sitting in the jeep. _Please no._

"That's okay; I'm meeting up with Kira. She knows more about science than me."

"That's too bad," Lydia lies through her teeth. "Come on Stiles, we should get inside."

They say their goodbyes and Lydia winds her arms around one of his to lead him inside, using her free hand to wiggle her fingers in a derisive wave at a slightly disconcerted Malia. She knew she was being unfair and childish, but she couldn't help herself.

Stiles stews quietly until the car disappears, then he yanks his arm free and glowers. "What is with you?"

"What?" Lydia reels back. "Nothing," she shuffles her shoulders as if to lift the weight of the past few days from them.

"Then why are you touching me like we're some sort of," his mouth clamps shut and tugs in several different directions before he spits the words out, " – friends, or something." His forehead dips, his expression choleric.

Her face falls with a wan, sad look in her eyes, but they remain fixed on his. She speaks softly but certain, "we _are_ friends." She hits one heel against the pavement below her feet like she's stomping resolutely. She can't let him disagree because she knows she's right. He can deny it all he wants, but she remembers the many moments they shared. Even if they remained platonic for the rest of their short supernaturally infused lives he would always see her in a way that no one else ever had; she'd still know his ins and outs and in betweens. And they would need each other when the hammer finally came down; when they lost their next soldier in an endless fight against the things that tried and often succeeded in hurting them.

Stiles could feel the guilt churn in his gut but she shoves it into the farthest corner of his mind because he can't worry about that right now. He knows he's right. This endless back and forth, shockwaves of emotion dragging him in a constant state between blissful and heartbroken... it had to end. It had to end here; with them. "Lydia," he winces, like it hurts to say her name. "I'm not so sure we are anymore," he says lowly, begrudgingly.

"What?" Her voice breaks, slightly more noticeable than her shattering heart. "No," she shakes her head in denial. "You're just mad. But we can't just _stop_ being friends, Stiles. It's not that easy."

He runs a sloppy hand over his face with a pained expression, a small whine leaving his his lips. "I just don't know what to do with you anymore." He feverishly digs his hands into his hair, scratching at his scalp and mussing up his gelled roots. His voice is weak when he finally admits, "It's not working out.."

"No, it _is._ It's working, Stiles, I swear." In the anxious flutter of her heart and the uncomfortable twist of her words she accidentally bites her tongue, her mouth filling with blood and leaving a twinge of sweetness in her mouth through a moment that's entirely bitter. She swallows it down and her chapped lips are spewing out apologies and any other nonsense she thinks he might want to hear. But he only shakes his head with sad eyes, pleading with her to just _stop_.

The click of the door opening distracts Stiles away from her, turning his attention toward Calvin like it had never been on her to begin with. He's surprisingly good at sounding eventoned and mellow, even though his voice shakes just a little and his eyes are flickering toward the wall where he can't be judged and he definitely can't see the suspicion Calvin regards him with.

Lydia blinks fiercely to clear her vision, swallowing several times to clear the massive lump in her throat. She has to reach up and wipe the dribble of held back emotion leaking from her nose and discretely dabs the corners of her eyes. Her smile almost reaches her eyes when she's greeted by her boyfriend.

Lydia was stunned by how different Calvin's house felt just a few hours since she was last there. It smelled like peppermint now and there was low music playing like it was Christmas Eve. The feeling was somewhat unnatural and extremely unnerving; the set-up clearly orchestrated by someone who didn't know what they were doing and was most definitely unfamiliar with social events. She scans the open living room. It's so much cleaner now, corners that were once hidden by dust bunnies and dirty soot now whitened and visible. She could even see her reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall.

"Let me take your jacket," Calvin instructs, gesturing with his hands.

She slips off her coat, the corners of her lips forcing upwards once more and tightening when their eyes meet. As he hangs her jacket, she continues to admire the house. No sign of Forrest yet. Despite their spoken agreement to let her snoop around tonight, part of her was worried that if they were all caught in the same room together he might slip-up and confess everything to Calvin. There had to be a reason he was so willing to indirectly assist her without anything in return. He had to get something out of this.

It's going to be even more difficult to convince Stiles to keep Calvin busy now that he'd broken up with her friendship but she'd find a way if it killed her. She was going to nab that tiny little key from Calvin's pocket, and she was going to get in that bedroom by the end of the night.

"Got a twister mat around here?" Stiles wisecracks, causing Lydia to roll her eyes in annoyance she didn't make an effort to hide.

"Sorry to disappoint," Calvin's lips kept twitching into several versions of the same weird smile and it gave Lydia a sick feeling. She wanted to go home and she'd only just gotten here. But she had a goal to fulfill, something to be accomplished. She finally had something to focus on.

"You're not going to hug your own girlfriend hello?" Lydia spreads her arms to give off the impression of shock, still waiting for him to pull her into his arms.

Calvin is visibly confused by her behavior and Stiles does all he can to prevent himself from walking right out the door - but Calvin doesn't question he actions for long. He beams broadly and takes two large steps forward to tug her against his chest.

Lydia's hands slowly move down his back, targeting his back pocket. They move in soothing patterns to keep his cynicism at her circling hands from arising. She's able to sweep them underneath the denim covering, but finds that it's empty. _Damn. The key is in his front pocket._

But before she can check he releases her. "My brother should be out in a minute he was just taking a shower, I'm gonna go check on the food."

This is it. This is her only chance to get this key from him without it being obvious, and she needs to do it now. Before he fully swivels around she calls out a, "wait!" and hooks two fingers into each of his pockets to pull him toward her, landing her lips fully on his.

Stiles revolts and turns his cheek to the scene being displayed in front of him, completely sure of himself that she was doing this to make him jealous. He didn't know why she was punishing him; it was cruel. He'd only done what she forced him to do.

Calvin is still and firm underneath her, but he loosens up rather quickly and uses one hand to squeeze her shoulder and press her closer, all the while completely oblivious to the fact that her hooked fingers had become roaming hands in search of one of his most closely guarded secrets.

Lydia effortlessly lifts the key from the confines of his left pocket, shoving it into the waisteband of her skirt and pulling the hem of her shirt over to hide it. She steps away from him quickly, swiping her fingers over her lips to destroy his taste.

Calvin only smirks, his cheeks flushed. "I'll be right back, kitten."

She cringes at the nickname he'd used once before.

Stiles can barely contain his anger, his foot tapping restlessly against the floor and his hands bunched into fists but hidden deep in his pockets. He waits until Calvin is gone before he turns to her and snorts bitterly. "Kitten? _Really?_ Could that guy _be_ any creepier?"

Lydia sighs and heads straight for Stiles, her hair swinging around her shoulders as she moves in close to lean into his ear.

Stiles uncertainly stiffens up, simmering animosity replaced by wide eyed panic and taut features pulled back tensely. Somehow, _"What - what are you doing?"_ tumbles out of his flapping lips. He can feel her hot breath against the side of his cheek and almost thinks she's going to kiss it.

"I need you to keep Calvin busy, distract him for as long as you can."

"W-What?" The human blanches, perplexed. "What are you talking about?"

"Stiles," Lydia snaps quietly. "If any microscopic particle of your entire being _ever_ loved me even a little bit, you'll do this without questioning me." Her eyes burn fearfully into his. " _Please_."

His eyes flicker between the two green spheres that were begging him to help her. The intensity of her stare frightened him, and he could only hope that she was alright and then berate her about it later. They didn't have time now, they never did. It was always tomorrow, infinitely and forever. But how can tomorrow come if it's always today? He gulps down his uncertainty and manages to only slightly nod his head with a throaty, "okay."

"Thank you," she whispers back, moving to squeeze his hand reassuringly only to pull it back at the last second. He didn't want her to touch him; he didn't even want to be her friend.

Lydia watches his adam's apple bob and his soft eyes wander as he blindly moves from the couch and into the kitchen to do whatever he can to keep the other boy entertained for as long as he could. It was a good thing he was so well prepped on telling horrible jokes.

Once she hears the echo of his voice she flies from the sofa and heads for the locked bedroom, her eyes straying every so often toward the direction of the kitchen to make sure no one was coming. She holds her breath as she snatches the key from the band of her skirt and twists it into the lock, only allowing herself to exhale when it clicks and loosens. She's quick to free it from the door, holding the cold metal tightly in the center of her palm as she pushes her gateway to what could be anything slowly open.

The first thing she's sure to do is close it behind her to prevent anyone from seeing what she's up to if they happen to walk by. Then she takes it all in.

It's more normal than she thought it would be, a boy's room. There's a mixture of dark blue, grey and black coating the furniture. The walls are prussian blue and even though his desk is organized and there are papers disarray, there's nothing out of the ordinary.

Lydia's heart lurches to the pit of her stomach at the very thought that there might not be anything here worth discovering. She won't accept that though; because there's proof here somewhere. She isn't sure what exactly she hopes to find that could be incriminating, but she wants to know if this is a normal human boy after all. She wants to know if this is another part of Beacon Hills' many frightening attractions or if he's actually just a teenager with mental health issues.

The majority of her hoped that he was something very evil and demonic just so that she'd have an excuse to stick a sword through his chest; but something about that was even more unsettling, because it meant that his promises to hurt her friends were more than just words.

She starts rummaging through his drawers, pulling each one open individually and slamming it shut again when she found nothing important. There were some old report cards, pencils and a few strewn erasers and rubberbands.

But the bottom drawer was locked.

Lydia bites down on her lower lip as she tries to use the same key that worked on the door.

She thanks her lucky stars when it easily clicks into place and slides open like it was a secret meant to be shared with the world. There's nothing in there but a hefty black leather journal. The cover is blank, but there are a few scratches along the surface to mar what was probably in perfect condition at some point in time.

The very first page is filled with scrappy writing that Calvin had made a point to try to make neat. Parts of it were cursive, and other parts were just looping and full of effort to be pretty. She skims the words, because she knows she doesn't have a lot of time.

_Dear brother, if you are reading this as I suspect you might be, be sure to tell our father every detail (not that I'm concerned that you might not, after all, we both know what type of ordinary little man you are). The secrets I hide in this journal are only secrets until you know what I've done and what I plan to do._

_Don't look at me like that, big brother. We tried things your way and they didn't work, mother and I were so weak that we were close to death. If our harebrained father hadn't stepped in when he had, we'd both be dead. Granted, that sweet couple down the street would be alive, but they were a small sacrifice for a greater cause. What cause is that you ask? To feed. To have power._

_It may seem shallow to you. Who am I to you, anyway? Your impetuous brother who thinks only of himself, I'm sure. But if that were true, my heart wouldn't be so full of Emily. Goldhearted, beautiful Emily. We met at school._

_She likes horses, so I left her one. I left it at her front door, knocked three times and hid behind the oak tree in her front yard. I waited for her to come, to see what I did for her. She was so scared, Forrest. Scared of me. I thought that might happen, so I never told her that I was the one who left the decapitated horse head on her front stoop. How can I charm her into my arms if she knows the bad thing I did?_

_Tonight she'll dream of me, and when she wakes up it will have seemingly never ended. She's going to see me everywhere, behind every door and in every reflection, as she brushes her teeth and as she pulls out of her driveway. Even in class, she's going to look up at the teacher and see only my face._

_It will drive her mad, and she will fall wildly in love with me._

Lydia's fingers had tightened around the edges of the journal, leaving harsh imprints and filling the silent room with the gentle sound of squeaking leather as the tips slipped against it. Her breathing was heavy and her tongue was dry and swollen. She had to keep reading, but she didn't have much time.

She skips to a page somewhere in the middle.

 _My dear Annette, I hold you in my heart so heavy that you make me fall to my KNEES. Why do you make me so W-E-A-K? Why do my knees SHaKe and my lips_ _**tingle** _ _with the desire to touch yours? I saw you tremble today when I walked into the coffee shop._

_You asked me what I wanted and why I was here, and I told you that it was because I wanted you to personally pour me a hot cup of coffee, that it could be a picture of what our future might look like together. That was when you shifted your eyes nervously toward your stupid fucking manager and the bastard asked aloud, " - Is this the guy?" When you nodded with haunted eyes, he made me leave. That fucker will die for his poor choice._

_I know he wants you, I know you're sleeping with him. I can tell. Why else would he make me leave? Hm? Do you think I'm stupid? AM I STUPID!?_

Lydia inhaled sharply and nearly tore one of the pages in half in her hurry to skip ahead again.

_My mother and father relocated our family today. My father tried to lecture me, tried to tell me to be more careful. He was almost tearful as he claimed that Annette was a good person and didn't deserve the horrible ending she got._

_It was her mistake, though. I thought she was different, I thought she was the one. They're never the one._

Lydia's entire form was quaking and she couldn't begin to comprehend what all of this meant. She snuck in his room with the intention of finding answers and was only leaving with more questions, more fear than she'd ever felt before. She wanted to take the journal with her but there was no way she could sneak it out of its place. She should've brought a bigger purse.

Chomping on her lip, she decides she'll read one more and do a little more exploring.

_Karla from the mall. Karla handing out samples of perfume. Karla who smells nothing like the product she sells, but like her very own scent. She is cranberries and citrus, she is the night sky and dying stars that haven't yet reached us. Karla who helped me pick out a bracelet for a girlfriend I don't have. Karla who I followed home. Karla who laughed at my jokes. Karla who tasted like wine._

_Karla who cried in her sleep every evening, even before I started to drink from her life._

_Karla who didn't believe she could truly be loved by anyone._

_Karla who asked me to fuck her._

_Karla who started to see things that weren't there._

_Karla who tried to run._

_Karla who asked what she did to deserve this_

_Karla that deserved it because she wasn't the one_

Lydia stumbles almost blindly around his room, moving in a panic as she tears through his room, checking under the most hidden places; under his mattress; in the case of bubble gum in his drawer.

Then she opened his closet.

Hundreds of magazine cut outs taped everywhere, scribbled nonsense written in sharpie along the wall. In the center of it all there were pictures of Lydia on days she was alone, days she was sitting in her room on her laptop and days she was walking down empty streets texting on her phone. On the left side of the closet was a close up picture of her lips with the scratchy writing above it that stated "LYDIA'S LIPS". Underneath it was a picture of her eyes similarly labeled "LYDIA'S EYES".

On the right side of the closet was a photograph of her legs and that was labeled too; and a picture of her hair taped beneath that.

It was the shrine of a serial killer.

Lydia's shaking hands flew to her mouth in abject horror. And then she was clutching her stomach as the bile rose to her throat, the need to empty her stomach's contents growing incessantly. She couldn't breathe. There was pain everywhere, like something was squeezing her into a ball. She knew this was a panic attack and she had to get control of herself.

She smacks her hands against Calvin's desk, unnoticing of the commotion she was making as she gasps for air. But she can't calm down, she can't maintain her breathing.

So she pictures Stiles; who just happens to be in the next room. She sees his face in her head, telling her to look at him like she'd once done to him and all she sees his eyes. But that ultimately only makes her think of the picture of her own eyes just a few feet away, and she begins to hyperventilate again, dropping to her knees.

She can't actually get Stiles to come and help her because then Calvin and Forrest will find her too. So she does the only thing she can think of left, and calls her best friend Scott. He might not be her first choice, especially not now, but his voice might actually make some difference where nothing else would.

The line is picked up but she speaks before he could get out a simple hello.

 _"Scott,"_ she chokes, clawing at her throat like it wouldn't accept even a little of the surplus of oxygen that was available to her.

"Lydia?" He moves on the other side. "What's happening?"

"Panic...attack," she wheezes.

Scott swears through the receiver, to himself. "Lydia, look at your hands," he instructs firmly.

"My _hands_?"

"YES." He smacks his fist against something hard. "Lay your hands flat and count each finger, put me on speaker."

She does as he tells her, her knuckles curling against the carpet, white and pink and squeezing. "One..." her breath is straggled. "...two." She can hear Scott counting with her, encouraging words and promises that she can do this flowing from him like a fountain.

Her lungs were on fire; she was on the verge of passing out. But the blackness was clearing with every higher number she counted out loud, examining her fingers closer than she ever had before. She was so thankful that Scott had answered, that he'd finally been there when she needed him to be. She wished she could hug him and apologize for bitching at him all the time, tell him that even though he's an oblivious bastard he means the world to her and she's never let a man so close without getting intimately involved with him; that it's amazing to have a connection with someone in a new way.

She's emptily gasping as "ten" finally passes through her lips. Almost a whole minute goes by before Scott speaks again, allowing her that moment to rest.

"Lydia.." he says quietly. "You okay?"

His concern is painful. "I think so," she tells him meekly. " _Thank you_..."

"Do you wanna tell me what's going on? Can I come get you - _where are you_?"

Lydia can almost hear his worried pacing. "I'm at the Easley's with Stiles."

"What? Why isn't he helping you?"

"He's in the other room." Lydia coughs. _Severe cotton mouth._ She could really use a glass of water. "Look, we _do_ have to talk. There's so much I have to tell you," she stares right at the closet, shadowed in darkness. One of the images of her was peeking out, the corner of her eye looking directly at her. She involuntarily shivers. "Just not right now."

A hefty sigh fills in her ear. "Lydia, I'm serious. We're talking about this and you're gonna tell me everything that is happening with you."

Lydia's lower lip wobbles as shame prickles in her veins. "We will."

Scott doesn't want to let her get off the line, but he knows he has little choice. He'll have to settle for shooting Stiles a text to keep him up to date on her situation. "Fine. Call me later."

She closes the closet and locks the bedroom door behind her in a fog, her thoughts carried away by the trauma of what she'd just witnessed. Nothing would be the same, not after that. She was beyond convinced that Calvin was something more than human. _No._ If he was truly capable of stalking and killing several girls, he was less than human.

And she's going to destroy this motherfucker if it takes her dying breath.

She's heading down the hallway when Stiles nearly barrels into her halfway to the living room. His entire face is etched with uneasiness and worry, his eyes wild and unforgiving.

" _Where_ have you been?" He demands.

She wants to bite back something sarcastic but she's incapable of much more than moving her legs right now.

That's when Stiles realizes that Lydia is as pale as a sheet, and her eyes are cold like they've witnessed something brutal. What could have changed so drastically between fifteen minutes ago and now? "What is it?" His heart jumps. "What's wrong?"

Her mind warns her that it's threatening to burst into tears, the familiar tug of her lips and curl of her chin are neon flashing lights. " _Stiles,_ " she groans almost pitifully, pleading.

"Lydia." His tongue flicks out to his lips and his breathing grows harder. "Tell me."

"Lydia? Are you back here?" Calvin's voice calls, his steps growing louder as he approaches.

Stiles' eyes close in frustration, but he inhales calmly and moves away from Lydia.

"Hey guys."

Lydia knows she's staring at Calvin in a way she never has before and the twinkle in his eye gives her the paranoid fear that he knows everything she's just done. Her heart is beating frantically, and she can only hope that her distress isn't so obvious to them.

"Dinner's ready, Forrest's already sitting with his plate so let's get a move on."

Lydia abruptly nods and slides past them to join Forrest at the table. She misses the silent look passed between the boys as she makes her quick escape.

"Sneaking off with my girlfriend again?" Calvin exhales a laugh and blatantly says, "Most guys would think you still wanted her, so I guess it's a good thing I'm not the jealous type."

Stiles' upper lip quirks at the other boy in disgust, but she just shakes his head with a "Pfft," attempting to walk away when Calvin's hand wraps around his upper arm to gently pause his movement.

" - but if I was the jealous type, then you'd _really_ have something to worry about."

"Then I guess it's a good thing you're not much of a threat," Stiles sniffs at him, tearing his arm from Calvin's hold. "Don't ever do that again."

"Why, because daddy's a sheriff?"

Stiles laughs slyly, " _No_ , because I'll kick your goddamn ass." It's not the most promising comment he's ever made, he'll admit that. It's not like he's much good with fighting when he doesn't have a bat to defend himself with, but maybe Calvin won't try to test that theory. Stiles can't stop himself from talking big when literally everything Calvin does is talk - except for that _one_ time when they first met. But other than that...

"Tread lightly, Stilinski," Calvin warns effortlessly.

"Yeah, I'll do that."

_x-x-x_

Even though the dinner begins rather awkwardly, things are at least peaceful. The tension is only palpable among those who've been involved in situations that call for it tonight, and even then it was different depending on who that person was.

Lydia felt tension between herself and Calvin that _he_ didn't even feel. She was so convinced that he knew she went through his things. He had to. He could just _tell_. He had that way about him; to just know things. But more than that, Lydia was fucking petrified. Sure, she wanted to reach across the table and impale Calvin with her steak knife, but at the same time she didn't know what else he could've possibly done apart from the little things she knew about his past - that he could've been moved around from town to town following and killing girls without her having even the slighest clue. Who really _was_ this guy? Who was this family?

She was only half-interested in the conversation the boys were indulging in, every so often taking a moment to discretely study Calvin's face; to search for the maliciousness she knew too well; that he managed to mask so flawlessly like it never existed. But no matter the circumstances, he always had a strangess to the way he carried himself, the quick blink of his bright eyes and the tug of his lips that moved too easily into a large smile.

Stiles' foot nudges Lydia's under the table to grab her attention.

He didn't say anything, he couldn't, but his brow was low and concerned. He wanted to know what was going on, and she could understand his impatience. He could probably see how frazzled she was.

"I appreciate you both coming tonight," Forrest disrupts their eye contact. "I know it's kind of weird..."

"It's not weird," Lydia insists, although her head says otherwise.

Lydia could swear that Forrest's eyes would flicker curiously to hers now and then, admiring and almost questioning. Maybe he was wandering if she'd gotten a look inside of Calvin's room yet. She was more on edge around Forrest than before, wary of his intentions and the darkness behind his bland dark eyes, because now she knew that he'd been helping his brother cover up the heinous acts he'd been committing - if they were even true at all. But she couldn't convince herself that they were just the delusions of a sick boy, believing things had happened that really hadn't. They lived in Beacon Hills and there were no coincidences around here.

Calvin's very presence was a powerful force, one she hadn't truly felt until she crossed the threshold from Calvin's room and into the hallway. That was when it hit her, just how much trouble she was in. It was when she began to rethink the possibility of him sneaking into her room and stealing Allison's body.

Her stomach burned with clenched grief. She could feel Stiles worried eyes scoping her out.

"Lydia, are you alright?" Calvin placed his fork down.

"I'm fine. Why?"

He glances down at her food. "It's just...you're not eating."

As she opens her mouth to respond she finds herself cut off by Forrest, who none too gently let his glass of beer smack against the wooden table as he abruptly placed it down. "I think what Lydia's feeling might be a little bit of guilt," Forrest proclaims boastfully.

Her head lifts, shocked. "What?"

Calvin's eyes twinkle with confusion, and he looks between his brother and girlfriend in the same way that Stiles does.

Forrest flexes an accusatory finger in Lydia's direction. "Your _girlfriend_ stole the key to your room so she could have a nice look around. Go on and check, your stuff isn't exactly the way you left it. Not entirely." His voice is rich and masculine, carefree and unburdened.

Lydia's eyes bulge as her heart quickens with the flutter of a deer in the headlights.

Calvin isn't yet glowering, his face is actually quite plain. He wants to hear what she has to say. He wants to know if his brother is tricking him in some way. "Lydia, is this true?" He queries icily.

Stiles is holding his breath with anticipation, his palms edged along the corner of the table, bracing himself. He's probably the most clueless one here; because clearly there's so much more to the story of the Easley's than he knew, something that Lydia was holding back. As soon as they were out of this horribly awkward situation he would sit her down and get every straight answer from her he possibly could. Damnit, she was going to tell him _everything_. He wouldn't be out of the loop anymore, and once he figured out what was actually going on, then he could figure out how to handle it from there.

"What purpose do _I_ have to sneak into _your_ room?" She seethes, feeling the focus of the room on her. _Why would Forrest betray her?_ She was drowning all over again.

"I don't know, why don't you _inform_ me?" His body has gone rigid, the muscles in his arm jumping with unexpressed anger.

"Lydia wouldn't do that," Stiles jumped to her defense despite knowing she probably had. "Do you have any proof?" He crosses his arms in defiant resistance, the corner of his lips twitching with annoyance, mostly at being the most confused one there.

"Stand up," Calvin commands firmly.

"Don't speak to me that way, I didn't do anything!" She scoffs, turning briskly to face Stiles. "We should go, clearly we're not welcome here anymore." She delicately folds her clutch under her arm, the legs of her chair sliding squeakily along the wood as she angrily moves with the intention of leaving. Stiles follows suit, awkwardly shuffling and then nodding at Forrest.

Now that she's moved into a standing position, Calvin rushes to stand in front of her, blocking her exit. "Unfold the band of your skirt."

"No," Lydia growls, knowing full well that she'd hidden his key there. As a last ditch effort, she tries to move around him but he steps into her space once more.

"I'm not kidding, Lydia."

"Hey," Stiles decides that there's no better time to step in than now. Before he was a little uncomfortable being in the middle of a couple's spat when he had little idea what it had to do with, but if Lydia wanted to leave then they were leaving and Calvin wasn't going to intimidate either one of them. "Why don't you both just take a breath, okay?" He's between them, using his arms as shields to both of them. "Lydia and I are gonna go, you guys can talk when everythings...calmer." He'd been waiting for an opportunity to get out of here for the entire night; he had so many questions to ask her.

"What's the big deal, Lydia? Just unfold your fucking skirt! It's that simple."

"It's the principle," she answered almost tauntingly, lifting her chin at him resolutely.

That did it.

Calvin launched himself forward, stunning both Stiles and Lydia. The other teenager tried to stop him but his efforts were wasted as the three of them ended up toppling into a pile in the corner of the room. They were scrambling for a few short moments before the alarming sound of silver clinking against the wooden floor pulled everyone from their struggle instantaneously.

They were a mess of limbs, but Forrest calmly manuevered himself toward the small shiny key laying in front of them, lifting it for their eyes to see.

Stiles and Lydia were quick to move back to their feet after that.

She'd been caught.

Calvin was frighteningly quiet as he repositioned his t-shirt and rose to his steady legs, hair ruffled from their encounter and his eyes dark and grave. He clenched his fingers into tight fists and in that moment he saw only red. He pointed toward the key in his brother's grip, the veins in his arms stretching and bulky as adrenaline twists through them.

"That's my fucking key."

Lydia nods slowly, uncertain. The sound of Stiles breathing evenly next to her was comforting. He was there with her.

"Not only did you lie to me but you..." his hands express the explosiveness of her actions. He takes a step forward. "Did you find anything interesting in there?"

Lydia shakes her head solemnly. "I didn't get a good look around."

Calvin laughs almost maniacally. "You're lying to me again!" He runs his fingers crazily through his hair. "God, Lydia I wish you hadn't done that." He's wheezing, sweating profusely. "You ruined everything! _Everything_!" He rubs his hand over his face, exasperated and pallid. "You're the one Lydia, I was going to show you so many things."

Stiles is peering at Calvin, seeing him in a light he hadn't before. It was interesting, but it was frightening. Calvin was a toxic human being, and he didn't want Lydia around him anymore. He didn't want to see this guy ever again.

He places his hands on Lydia's shoulders to guide her, ignoring the way she winces at first. "Let's go, Lydia."

She says nothing as he leads her toward the door, squeezing her purse to her chest and shaking. Going was a good idea. She should go home.

When they reach his car he stops walking, standing in the middle of the driveway and staring at her with a mixture of emotions swirling in his honey eyes.

Lydia stops her trail toward the passenger side and shrugs at him, stoic. "What?"

His mouth opens and closes. " - How can you be with someone like that?" He finally allows himself to ask. "Why do you always pick these guys? Why do you want this?"

Lydia twitches at the word "want". "I don't..," she tells him meekly.

"Then why do it?" He shakes his head at her lack of response. He's angry with her. He's _pissed off_. But he's sad, too. And the tears in his eyes are telling. His voice is thick and heavy as he relays, "I would have been so good to you, Lydia."

In a whistle of the wind Lydia honestly whispers, "I know."

He sighs, long and tired. Then his arm flops toward the car. "Come on, I'll drive you home."

Lydia was glad he would drop the subject of Calvin for now, but she knew this conversation was far from over. There were a lot of things that would be coming up again in the next few days. She had to talk to Scott, she had to talk to Stiles, and she wasn't stupid enough to think that Calvin and Forrest would be leaving her alone anytime soon.

Would this week ever end?


	14. Where I Stood

**Where I Stood**

_I don't know what I've done or if I like what I've begun_

_but something told me to run and darling you know me, it's all or none_

_There were sounds in my head,_

_little voices whispering, that I should go and this should end_

_Oh, and I found myself listening_

\- Missy Higgins

 

Thirteen

 

After a relatively quiet drive, Lydia expected nothing more than for Stiles to anxiously jump out of her car and slam the front door to his home as he retreated into his safe space far away from _her_. But when the car came to a slow stop by the curb, he made little movement at all.

Lydia edged her nails along the wheel, side-eyeing him carefully. "My car is low on gas, so you should probably go now."

Ever since she left the Easley's, she'd been existing in a foggy bubble of solitude, unable to accept that she'd really seen the horrible things hidden in the shadows of Calvin's room, in places that should have been more secretive then they were. Her hands had unconsciously gripped the wheel tighter when her thoughts returned to the images of her scattered along the wall in his closet, the hair-raising description of the women he terrorized in every city he moved to scribbled in his journal. His apparant search for "the one" was fruitless, because even without whatever small nonexistent thing that caused him to feel betrayed, he'd feel it anyway. He'd find _something_ about each of these women that made them just as fake and worthless as the rest. He was unrelenting and pushy, forcing his victims to give up their hands in a game of life threatening cards where he always held the Ace.

But this wasn't a game. This was Lydia's life, and the lives of so many others that had already been lost. This was the life of any other girl that would come next.

She knew it had to end with her.

Stiles' tense jaw unclenches and his hand moves to the door handle. "Come inside, we need to talk."

Lydia realized that she kept making excuses for herself; finding reasons to put off this inevitable conversation because she just wasn't ready to open up about all of it. She was so afraid of telling him, not because of what he might do or what Calvin might do, but because the words were so hard to get out. She didn't know where to start, how to form her mouth in the correct shape to let the truth tumble out. She felt fear and anger and more than anything, she felt shame. Lydia was supposed to be strong, but she was constantly letting scary things that hid under her bed grab her ankle and pull her down with them. For the first time in a while, Lydia felt unbelievably small.

"We already talked," her heart thumped painfully against her ribs. "Remember? You said we're not friends anymore," she repeats his earlier statement bitterly.

Frustration leaves his mouth in the shape of a grunt, his hands flattening along the dashboard and his head discretely shaking. " _Lydia,_ " he almost growls, "you're coming inside and we're going to talk. About everything."

Lydia scoffs with a roll of her eyes. "I'm pretty sure people who aren't friends don't go to each other's houses and spill all their secrets."

The look he gives her is somewhere between disbelieving and fiercely irked. "This is serious, Lydia."

"Right," she laughs sardonically. "Just like you _seriously_ ended our friendship earlier this evening." Her head throbbed with an oncoming migraine. "I can't believe you would just give up on me like that."

"Give up - " Stiles throttles his head to clear his brain as if he couldn't have heard her correctly. " _Give up_ on you!?" His teeth chomp down on his lower lip to release some of his anger. "I have never given up on you! I have tried - " he swallows hard, inhaling deeply like he'd run out of air. "... _so_ hard to get through to you, to _be_ there for you."

His eyes are red and moist, and Lydia feels the guilt curl in her gut. It's difficult to meet his eyes, but at the same time she can't look away.

"But you don't want my help," his voice drops an octave, "you've made that pretty clear."

She shrugs her shoulders hopelessly. "So then why are we here?" She gestures toward his home. "Why are you inviting me inside and pushing me to tell you everything that's going on with me when I'm not even sure half the time!?"

"Because you do know, Lydia." Stiles stares at her intently as his eyes stop burning so harshly, although they remain dry and swollen. "And I'm not going to let you drive away without us having this conversation just because we're mad at each other... although it's not entirely clear why _you're_ the one that's mad."

Lydia sighs her resentment. "Fine. I'll come inside for a little while, but that's it."

Stiles almost smiles at his achievement, feeling satisfied as the motor dies with a flick of Lydia's fingers and she sends him a glare that says she wants to asphyxiate him.

She follows him inside wordlessly, an erratic heartbeat moving in rhythm with the fidgeting of her nails along the cloth of her skirt. She wants to tell him everything, but she doesn't want him to be in danger and she doesn't want him to worry about her. Hell, she doesn't even know where to begin.

That's why she sits motionlessly on the edge of his bed with her hands squished between her thighs from the moment he closes his door, ensuring their privacy.

He's apprehensive because he can see how nervous she is, a fearful bundle of nerves clutching onto the skin of her inner leg like every scratch would erase a psychological scar. A shudder leaves her lips and her body shakes in the draft of his room - his fault for leaving the window open all night.

"Are you cold?"

She sniffs in response, but when Stiles expectantly dips his head at her she fights the urge to roll her eyes and actually answers. "Yeah, but what do you expect when you fill your room with liquid nitrogen?" She retorts effortlessly.

Neglecting to bite back with just as much sarcasm, Stiles quietly sucks his cheeks into his mouth as he closes the window and then tosses her a red _"Beacon Hills Lacrosse"_ hoodie that once loosely hung in his closet.

Instead of pulling it over her head, Lydia simply admires the soft sweater, running her nails over the silk screen lettering and the bold " **24** " used to identify Stiles as a player on the team.

Stiles carefully narrows his eyes at the banshee sitting on his bed, admiring her with worry indented in his frowning lips. She was different lately; ever since they went camping. Even before then she didn't exactly look the picture of health, but now more than ever something heavy was weighing on her mind, something she didn't believe she could confide in him about. That was particularly upsetting. He wanted her to tell him the problem and he wanted to fix it, he wanted her to start smiling again and stop hiding so many damn secrets.

He clears his throat and smooths his hand along the comforter beside Lydia to clear a soft place to sit. The awkward way he pats it tells Lydia that he's just wasting time as he thinks of the appropriate way to begin this conversation. This time, she doesn't try to stop the backward roll of her eyes.

He only nervously shuffles his hands together until it occurs to him that she probably notices.

Stiles steadies himself. He has to be the strong one - she has to know that he's capable of being the shoulder she can lean on. It isn't like before, he isn't going to turn an oblivious eye to what is so clearly the worst time in Lydia's (almost) eighteen years.

So he turns to face her, folding a leg against the bed so that he can look her right in the eyes and see a lie when he's finally confronted with one (which he knows won't be long from now). His tongue moistens his dry lips, though his mouth feels a dehydration that can't be cured with even the tallest glass of water.

"These last few months..." he begins lowly, his tone and eyes as serious as the matter at hand. "They've been really fucking hard."

She winces at the truth laced in his rusty words. It wasn't just true for her, but the whole pack.

" - and I know it's been so much easier pretending our problems don't exist, pushing them away everytime they come bounding back in a never ending ping-pong match... but enough is enough. You need to tell me what the fuck is happening with you, and you need to tell me now."

Lydia's resolve weakens and moments later it finally crumbles. Her eyes feel like they're sagging, weighed down by a sadness Stiles can't currently compare to. Her hands are clammy. "Where do I even start...?"

His lips curl together. "Okay," he nods, gesturing toward her with his right hand, "Start with today."

"Today?" Her eyebrows furrow.

Stiles takes a deep breath, preparing himself to delve into this discussion. "Why did you need me to distract Calvin; _really_?"

She swallows hard as she answers honestly, "I wanted to sneak around his room."

Stiles face jumps in surprise. "Okay..." he trails off. "Why?"

" _Because I thought I might find something bad_ ," she whispers delicately, a voice full of repressed emotion.

His eyes squint, nodding as he accepted this information though he didn't fully understand it. "Did you?"

Lydia's chin wrinkles and her own head nods, slow and silent. A quiet confession.

Stiles' breath breaks with a tremor, but he bobs his head back in response, concern he was attempting to hide still somehow on full display as his face contorted and twitched, struggling to remain stoic and attentive. He runs sweaty hands along his jeans.

He's ready to ask her what it is that she found, to put to bed this secretive lost little girl in the place of the smartest, strongest woman he knew and confront the issue head on. His plans shatter and collapse when the squeak of the doors hinges drags their attention away and causes both of their hearts to plunge in disappointment.

Malia should be baffled at Lydia's presence but if she is, she's good at hiding it behind her unpleasant sneer, one that had been there from the second her face popped up in the doorway like it had previously been prepared. She takes note of their close proximity, Stiles' denim clad knee resting against the skin of Lydia's leg like it was the most comfortable spot for it to be. It was unbelievably intimate, and Malia was not okay with it. Maybe she would have been _before_ ; but not after the camping trip, not when she knew their lips had been touching and god knows what else. She could smell the uncomfortable tension rising to her standing height.

"Hey," Stiles greeted, making the unconscious decision to swing his legs over the edge of the bed and away from Lydia's warmth. "What are you doing here?"  
"I can't visit my boyfriend?"

Lydia's eyes sharpen at the label and she waits for Stiles to correct her - _only he doesn't._ That was weird.

"Of course you can," Stiles' head lurches forward, taken aback by her slightly more blunt than usual tactlessness. "It's just that you knew I was having dinner at Calvin's tonight and I was wondering how you knew I was home."

"...I decided I'd check and I was right, why are you giving me the third degree about this?"

Lydia's gaze flickers between the pair as the air grows strained. She shoves a thick piece of hair behind her ear, occupying herself by looking over her manicure as to not invade on their "couple's" spat. Internally, she was trying not to feel betrayed, mostly because she knew she wasn't allowed to feel that way. It was her decision to turn Stiles down, even if it had been for her own good reasons. He could make his own choices and if he wanted to be with Malia or any other werecreature that went to Beacon Hills High, she could do little to stop him without further mangling their fragmented friendship.

Stiles' form grew taut and rigid, unease burbling inside of him. He didn't want to fight and he didn't want to upset Malia, but she seemed to be in a mood that could not be pacified. This was the wrong time and the wrong place; he needed to talk to Lydia but he didn't know how to get rid of Malia without making her anger worse, but if he didn't then things would just escalate between him and Lydia instead. He finally had the perfect example of a catch 22 and his English teacher wasn't even here to see it.

"I'm not," Stiles contended defensively. "I think you're being a tad sensitive." He winced before she even took in his words. That was definitely the wrong thing to say.

"How about we just see each other tomorrow? Okay?" Lydia's voice was as unsteady as her promise to tell Stiles everything.

The human tilts his head at her with resisting eyes and a stiff jaw. "No," pointing a determined finger toward her chest. " _You_ are not going anyway." His heedy gaze is unwavering, so straight-faced that she has to look away. Stiles isn't going to let her run away from him anymore.

Malia isn't completely oblivious, and she is aware that she missed something very big tonight. She can smell how overprotective Stiles is feeling toward his friend and it isn't fair to stay angry with him if something is actually wrong. For some reason - there isn't any scent coming off of Lydia. It wasn't as if she just didn't care, because the banshee's withering expression spoke volumes.

Her eyes dart back toward her boyfriend. " _...What's going on?_ " But he only rings his hands and nervously glances toward Lydia because he still doesn't actually know. "Did something happen at Calvin's tonight?"

Lydia bites down on nothing and pulls hotly at her earlobe. She felt caught in the middle and there was nothing she could do to seal the discussion and let it be. If Malia would just shut her mouth and leave - if Stiles would let _her_ leave... It would be over. _What time was it?_

Lydia was desperate for a way out of more than just Stiles' bedroom.

"Malia..." Stiles began uncertainly. He was searching for a way to gently tell her it was none of her business.

"Does this have something to do with the bruises on Lydia's thigh?"

Lydia's ears perk and her chest tightens with a blossoming burning sensation.

At first Stiles is still, but then his eyebrows crunch together. His quizzical whiskey gaze turns, fixed on Lydia, tight and grim. When he finally speaks, his tone is so low and rusty that it nearly sends chills up her spine. The little hairs on her arms bristle and rise instead.

"What bruises?" Stiles falters, his voice thick and wet with unshed worry on a pile that had only been stacked upon for days; a spark of confusion carrying the honey in his eyes that was slowly burning into a steady fire of mixed emotions. "What is she talking about?" His concern molds into the vocal chords in his throat to the point where he is whispering.

"Guess not," Malia muttered to herself.

"Why do you have bruises?" He asks sharply, regaining his vigor.

Lydia's bloodshot eyes cast toward Malia and then return shamefully to Stiles. "Not now," she deflected huskily. Her heart was expanding and contracting in a violent grip, caught in a headlock where it attempts to wriggle itself from her body before it explodes. She doesn't want to feel this way anymore, but she has to push just a little bit further. She has to talk about it; they can't help her until they know.

Stiles visibly deflated at the realization that they couldn't have this out with Malia still present.

"Do you mind?" He asks softly, waving a hand briefly toward his door.

She stares at him with an inscrutable expression, but the vibration of her pocket pulls her from her reverie. "Yeah," she says gently in return, "that's probably Kira anyway, we might have plans that I forgot about..." She knows she doesn't and they probably do too - it's nearly midnight. But this wasn't a conversation she was allowed to listen in on, and even if she wasn't ready to leave a full-lipped Lydia alone with her kissable boyfriend, she could understand the necessary exception in this case. Something serious was happening with Lydia and she needed her closest friends to help her through it.

The fact that Scott wasn't there with them wasn't all that comforting.

The door quietly thuds behind her as she makes her exit, making a mental note to text Stiles about all of this later. Maybe he'll even tell her what's going on.

Stiles sets his jaw. " _Bruises?_ " He coaxes. He didn't have to be a genius to consider the possibility that Calvin had left them there, but the prospect was truly too scary to consider. That Calvin could have been hurting her without him knowing. There was just no way.

The redhead runs her hands over the cold, pale skin of her thighs, her lips folded together and her eyes trailing along the carpet. When she finally looks up, she notices his peering eyes trying to catch a hint of bruising at the hem of her skirt, somewhere along the creamy skin that seemed to lack any imperfections.

She's quick to tell him, "They're already gone."  
"What?" His eyes shoot up guiltily; caught staring.

"The bruises that you're looking for. They've already healed."

Stiles blinks a few times with drooping eyebrows, surprised at her refreshing candor, honesty she generally avoided presenting. He sweeps a hand over his chin, squishing his lips together to prevent the question burning his tongue from free-falling. _Was it Calvin?_ Instead, he simply says, "Oh."

Lydia lets out a long breath and straightens up impatiently. "If there's something you want to ask just do it. We're not getting anything out of this staring contest."

Stiles jittered, drumming calloused fingers along his dark blue jeans. "Right." He forces his hands to still and swallows back a shudder. "Can you just tell me - ?" he pauses shortly to rearrange his thoughts, words he wanted to say jumbled and out of context. But when he finally spits it out, it's much less of a tongue twister, simplistic and to the point. Just like he wanted it to be. "Was it Calvin? Did he... Did he..." the concept makes him uncomfortable, and his hands are motioning together like he might not even be able to say it. " - _hurt_ you?" He stabs his nail into his palm and finds the courage to watch her expression change. But instead of honesty or sadness he sees her staring off toward the farthest window from them; stoic like she hadn't heard him. "Lydia?" He beseeches worriedly, snapping two fingers before her frozen face.

"Do you see that?" she whispers shakily, horrified eyes massive and ridden with fear as she remains fixed on the window.

It crepitates as an icy crack forms at the upper corner of the glass, growing in size as it expands and stretches unevenly along the windowpane and creating further damage, wavering and spreading until it reached the sill.

"See what?" Stiles does a double take between Lydia and the window. He watches cautiously as she rises from the bed, gradually moving toward it with determination ridged along her jumping brow. A chill runs up his spine. "Is something out there..?"

Her hands tremble as they reach out to trace the winding crack that is only visible to her own eyes. Her breath comes out in quick pants until finally her fingertips make contact with the cold, chipping glass. That's when she lets out the most high pitched, earth rattling scream she could - and then her entire mind goes blank.

Stiles' instinctive reaction is to shield his ears, his entire room quaking at the rumbling sound that carried beneath his feet. It didn't last long but he fell to the floor, crawling along his hands and knees until he could push himself onto his legs. He's cringing at the impact her yell had on his eardrums, a vibration squeezing inside of his head that would inevitably result in a migraine.

"Lydia!" He grabs her shoulders and spins her around to face him, but she's unseeing - staring behind him at nothing. "Hey, look at me," he swipes a thumb along her jaw.

She slides past him, moving on autopilot and opening his door as to drift down the hallway with a destination in mind.

All the while, Stiles tries to regain her attention, calling her name and gently brushing his fingers against her upperarm in hopes of bringing her mind back down to Earth. But at the same time, he doesn't want to cause any damage. This has to be what it's like when she finds a body, going into a fugue state and aimlessly traveling until she's where she needs to be. That's usually when she realizes where she is and the panic sets in. At least this way, Stiles could be with her. He could guide her away from danger and comfort her when she returned.

So once they're finally out of his house, he doesn't even try to stop her. He just follows close behind, every so often sparing a thoughtful glance toward the banshee and then immediately after biting down on his bottom lip, his mind whispering frightening possibilities about two totally separate things. The body they were going to find, and if there was going to be any unfightable evil still lurking around it; and then there was the bruises that Malia had mentioned.

This night had taken a terrible turn, and once again Stiles and Lydia were forced to put off the conversation he so badly wanted them to have.

He groans, mostly to himself. "Where the hell are you taking us, Lydia?"

She's ambling along a sidewalk for nearly twenty minutes when the sight of a car wreck comes into their view. There's a Ford mustang turned on its side by the small bundle of trees, broken shards of glass littered along the dirt along with a few patches of dark red that Stiles unmistakably identified as blood.

Stiles nearly smashes right into her, so accustomed to the pattern of her plain walk down the side of the road that he hadn't been prepared for her sudden halt, caught off guard by the disaster himself. She blinks a few times as her state of mind is reverted to its original capacity of self-awareness. and consciousness.

Stiles barely has any time to breathe his relief before other urgent matters take precedent. There's a chance that whoever was in this accident is still alive and he basks in this knowledge as he sprints toward the smashed in vehicle, taking little time to wonder what had happened. There were no dead deers, no other damaged cars, nothing to cause the collision that must've done such horrible destruction.

There's a girl laying in the mud, the lower half of her body stuck in the car where the dented and cracked window holds her into place, her upper half just as dead and unmoving as the other. There's a thick piece of glass sticking out of the middle of her chest and part of her ribcage is exposed to the brisk night air.

Stiles tries to pull her out the rest of the way, cringing at the way her limp body falls so easily into his arms like dead weight. His jostling only pushes her farther into the broken window, embedding it deeper into her side as a steady trail of blood leaks from the punctures.

"Lydia, help me!" Stiles grits from between his teeth, his exposed arms shaking from the low temperature of the night while a trickle of sweat drips from his brow. When he receives no response he glances back, but can't see around the bend of the car to find out what she's doing that could be so occupying that she couldn't help him. It was unlikely that this girl could be saved, Stiles knew that. She didn't seem to be breathing and she was soaked with blood. _There was nothing he could do..._

He let the girl flop back onto the ground, his face contorting with guilt. If they'd been just a little bit faster, maybe they could have prevented this. Why would Lydia have these gifts if there was _nothing_ they could do?

He's running his hands over his face when the weight of the air shifts around him, a shadow falling over him where Lydia bends down to brush the girl's matted hair from her face.

Blood runs from her nostril and Stiles has to look away.

What got to Lydia was the fringed blonde hair, the long thin nose and the tilted bright eyes. A nerve struck inside of her as her brain made the connection, even through the lines of blood hiding the victim's face. A shiver runs violently through Lydia's body and her throat closes up. She can barely say the words. "Regan."

Stiles' head jolts up at the familiar name. Lydia's best friend when she was a child, one she'd lost to popularity only a few years ago. It was Regan Fisher.

"No..." Lydia was staring for a few short seconds before she stumbled backwards, losing her footing over a broken off part of the vehicle and falling to the ground as the shouting began.

She started screaming at the top of her lungs, howling and caterwauling in a hysterical fit, barely able to feel it as Stiles arms twist around her and drag her away from the violent scene, whispering soothing things that she cannot hear through her shock.

" _Oh god, oh god, oh god..._ " She moaned into his chest where he cradled her on the soft muddy ground.

"Okay," Stiles ran a hand over her the back of her head in rhythmic soft ministrations. " _S'okay_ ," he breathed shakily into her ear, the palm of his right hand trailing down her arm.

Stiles felt it as Lydia's body shook. He held back his tears and morbidly wondered why Regan's cuts were so fresh when she looked like she'd been there for a few days and how that could be possible. She was so pale and still...

"Just don't look," he cups her face, shielding her vision from the destruction surrounding them.

"What happened to her?" Lydia sighed into his shirt, soaked with tears and mascara. "Why did I sense that?"

Stiles shook his head. He didn't know, but Lydia almost never predicted death unless there was some greater purpose, unless it correlated with a mystery they were already trying to solve or should be involved in. Staring at Regan, surrounded by a pool of her own blood - it looked like murder. The way the glass was poking out of the middle of her chest, a spot so selective and _purposeful._ It looked like **murder**.

Her eyes widen where her eyelashes brush against his shirt, sticking to his chest with moisture. Tears of so many fond memories she had of Regan that turned into something else entirely. She didn't even like the girl anymore, that was true, but she never would've wished death on her, not ever. And even through all of that pain and guilt for neglecting to mend the broken relationship they once had, something else was causing the sensitive skin of Lydia's arm to prickle. " _What if it was Calvin?_ " She shudders brokenly, her nails digging into Stiles' side where they tighten around him.

"What?" Stiles pulls his chin from her shoulder, his warm breath tickling her face when he tilts back to look down at her. " _What did you just say?_ " His disbelief is evident, but they both knew that he heard her. His mouth is parted and she can see him chomp down on his tongue; feel his hold on her stiffen. His eyebrows are low and waiting but his whiskey orbs are studying.

She hadn't mean to say it out loud.

"I..." The ends of her hair stick to his face when she pulls away from him. They're both still sitting on the floor, his hands still loosely gripping her shoulders.

"Lydia..." he begins uncertainly.

"Stop!" They both jump at how loud her command comes out. His fingers graze her jaw and she flinches, crawling backwards and climbing to her feet. "I have to... I have to..."

Then she bolts, running as far as her legs are willing to carry, still hearing him fearfully scream her name in the distance as he tries to catch up with her. She vanishes around a corner, hiding against the back of a department store and pressing her body against the hard brick. She reaches into the pocket of her skirt, thankful that she'd left her phone there for safe keeping. She fumbles with the keys until a familiar friend's picture appears on the screen.

"Hey Lydia," Scott greets quietly. "Are you home yet? Can we talk?"

She wheezes into the phone. "Yes," she pinches the skin of her forehead, her head pounds painfully beyond the surface. "I think it's time we finally did."

If there was any friend to confide in first, that person would have to be Scott McCall. He was the easiest to talk to, and her heart didn't feel like it was going to blow to kingdom come whenever they were in same room. She tried to picture the way the conversation would go but she couldn't determine his reaction. They'd never been in a situation quite like this one before, she'd never gone to him for help about something so serious. And when she brought Regan into it... _Oh god, Regan._

Her immediate reaction had been to blame Calvin, to consider that he was responsible for not only the car wreck but edged piece of rigid glass nestled close to Regan's unbeating heart. Her biggest concern that suggested it could be someone else or simply just an _accident_ was Calvin's motive. He didn't have any reason to kill Regan unless he believed he was doing it to protect Lydia in his own warped sense of morality.

But that was impossible. Mostly because Lydia could never accept her own responsibility if Regan had died because of _her._

She had Scott pick her up from the deli around the corner, the one that would probably be open in just a few hours. When had it gotten so _late_?

She's shivering for about ten minutes, and when he at last appears, skidding around the corner like he'd been in a rush, Lydia does not like the look on his face. He almost seems disappointed with her.

"What's...?" She's about to ask him what's wrong when a shadow shifts forward from the backseat with an eqaully distasteful expression. " _Stiles_." She gulps. "Should-shouldn't you be with Regan until your dad gets there?"

"He's already there," he grunts back. "Lucky for me, he was just around the corner."

Her eyes glance toward the backseat and she's hesitant to enter the vehicle.

"Don't worry Lydia, I'm not mad," Stiles says plainly, completely void of any type of emotion.

"You're not." Lydia blinks a few times, confused. "Okay..." She makes a move to get in the passenger side but the door locks. She huffs, taking a couple fumbling steps backwards. "Seriously guys, I'm not in the mood to play games. After Regan..." Her lower lip quivers, so she bites down to stop the movement.

"I know, but you should sit in the backseat," Scott says softly, a twinkle of remorse in his eyes. "We really have to talk, all of us."

"Which is impossible for us to do if I'm in the front seat," she mutters thickly with sarcasm as she climbs in next to Stiles.

"Well," Stiles' lips twist thoughtfully, "I'd like to be able to see your face in case you lie."

Ignoring the backhanded comment Lydia faces Scott's seat. "So what gave me away?" Lydia queried as the car slid across the pavement. "I mean, how did you know I ditched Stiles?"  
Scott and Stiles exchanged a look through the rearview mirror, and Stiles nodded his permission to tell her.

"I texted him about you, and he told me what happened."

She feels the aforementioned texter examining her expression, which remains rightfully passive.

"Right after you called," Scott explained patiently.

"Well isn't that nice and invasive." Clucking her tongue, Lydia ducked away from their twin grimaces by turning to face the window, shadows of trees passing by and changing the lighting inside of the car like a flickering bulb.

Scott releases a breath of air, emotionally preparing himself. He is the alpha, the pack leader. He has to learn how to handle these situations better, how to take care of his people. They may not see it that way, but he does. Their his responsibilities whether they take it in stride or deny him for the rest of their high school lives. And if someone was messing with Lydia - with any of them... there would be hell to pay. "Stiles and I are really worried. _Really_ ," he stresses, the very thought of something bad happening under his nose making his blood burn with shame. His eyes flicker to the rearview mirror to admire Stiles' dark expression. "He's pretty convinced that something's not right with Calvin..."

Her hair swings around her shoulders when she abruptly recoils, tilting her head at the mole-littered boy staring intensely back at her. "What does Calvin have to do with _anything_?" She growls. "I just want to know what happened to Regan, I can't do all of this tonight!"

Scott smacks his hand against the wheel so violently that both of his friends jolt, visibly startled and their eyes populous at the unexpected sound from their alpha, much louder than any of their voices carrying the weight of their exhaustion. "I know this is hard for you Lydia, but we can't keep putting this off. Not when you're in danger."

"Some freak left a bloody dress in my room, that doesn't mean anything." She visibly faltered, her eyes glossy with the incessant need to keep her excuses running on.

"And the hallucinations?" Stiles bowed his head at her expectantly. "They're different now. It's like they exist for the sole purpose of driving you mad."

A spark sets off inside Lydia's brain. The way Stiles spoke, his wording... it reminded her of Calvin's journal, the entries about sending his victim's dreams and images. Making one girl see him everywhere she looked, in every face. It wasn't exactly like Lydia's, but if he had the power to do that he could have done it again. And the thing about the decapitated horse head - the _gift_ he left for her.

The bloody dress in her room was from him. _It had to be._

The absolute certainty Lydia suddenly felt was making her physically ill. She clutched her stomach desperately. "I can't," she groaned through the severe nausea swirling in the pit of her belly, "not now, please. I can't tell you."

"You can tell us _anything._ "

She regrets looking up at Stiles because his eyes are wet with unshed tears. How can she fight him now?

A whine leaves her lips, a sigh. "This is all my fault." Her voice drops, low like the motor of the running vehicle.

"What are you talking about?" Stiles hesitantly reaches out to move her hair from her face to see her pained eyes. "How could any of this be your fault?"

"Just... everything." So much goddamn pain, so much silent suffering. "My parents, Allison, Aiden... Regan," misty eyes meet dark pitiful ones. "God, even you, Stiles."

He wants to disagree, she can see it in his brooding face, something she'd grown accustomed to. But he doesn't and they both know it's because she isn't wrong. He may not know exactly why she was treating him the way she had been for these past few weeks, but it still stood true. He doesn't even bother hiding his dismay as his lips mash together and his chin wrinkles dissatisfaction.

"We've all... _done things_." He turns toward the driver's seat for reassurance. "Right, Scott?"

"Hold on a minute," he grits out, narrowed eyes honed in on a shadow flittering along the side of the road, hunched over and stumbling. His window rolls down and he inhales deeply to put a name to the familiar scent. His eyes grow larger in recognition. "Why is Calvin in the road?"

Lydia jumps out of the car, an unstoppable force. Stiles' hands fumble to grab her arm to constrain her inside the vehicle for her own safety, but she jerks free of his grip and hoofs it, clunky heels pounding and scuffing against the gravel until she reaches the devil that hides inside the walls of her mind.

" _You,_ " She spits venomously, snatching his wrist to prevent him from escaping. "What the hell did you do!?"

Still puzzled by her sudden arrival, Calvin barely knows how to react. "W-What?" He yanks his hand free and rubs his wrist as if it had actually hurt. "When did you get here? Did you follow me?" His rising anger falls flat when he notices the two figures approaching at a fast-paced jog. They both stop protectively on either side of her.

Lydia's eyes flutter closed. It was a good thing that they showed up when they did, or she would've laid all her cards on the table. It's too soon for him to know just how much she learned about him in her exploration of his bedroom. Even if Forrest told him everything that Lydia had planned to do, he couldn't possibly know what she saw or didn't see in there.

"Calvin," Stiles squints at him under the flouresent street light. "What are you doing in this part of town at _**three**_ _in the_ _morning_?" His arms rest across his chest.

"Out for a walk." Calvin stretches his neck, tilting his head at the other boy. "And I suppose you all are trailing behind me _because_..." He leaves the statement open-ended, waiting for one of them to jump in.

"We weren't following you," Scott replies slyly. "I was driving them home and we saw you up ahead. Lydia decided to jump out of a moving vehicle and say hi."

Detecting the undercurrent to his tone, Lydia side-eyes her alpha, who is already raising his brows at her with a sparkle in his eye that suggests knowledge. She doesn't like that.

"Yeah she's adventurous like that." The ruffled haired teen smirks.

"You'd know all about that with your three weeks of knowing her," Stiles bites, sarcasm dripping from his retort like thick wine.

Calvin hums at him, turning questionable eyes to Lydia's suspicious ones. "I'm kind of glad I ran in to you. I was feeling kind of bad about how we left things tonight..." He sighs modestly. "We did things I'm sure we both regret. Maybe I can drive you home and we can talk about it?"

Lydia's prepared to deny him when Scott makes the decision for her.

"You should go."

Three shocked pairs of eyes are on him.

"What - ?" Stiles begins, just for Scott to smack a hand on his chest to shut him up.

"I think talking is a good idea." With unreadable eyes, Scott nods at the pair. "Lydia's been upset all night about what ever you guys were fighting about."

Lydia's eyebrows knit together, trying to find a hidden message in Scott's eyes that might tell her why in the world he wanted her to leave with Calvin, especially when he was so wary about him five minutes ago. But if he's trying to convey a message to her, it's entirely unclear in his dark brown orbs, the reccomendation almost sounding like an order from an alpha to a member of his pack.

"Go, I'll take Stiles home and we can talk about..." his gaze trails toward the direction they came from, thoughts returning to Regan. "We'll talk at school."

Lydia hopes he can see her pleading eyes, but it doesn't make a difference whether he can or not. "Okay..." she agrees sheepishly. "See you later," she mumbles, stiffening as Calvin's arm lightly touches her to guide her away. His car is hidden under the shadow of a tree down the street.

Once they're out of sight, Stiles swivels, glowering. "What the hell did you do that for!?" His teeth scrape together with hostility. "I just fucking told you that the guy is a freak and we shouldn't leave them alone together anymore, and the first thing you do is send them off - _**alone**_." His fierce stare demands an explanation.

Scott drops his deadpanning expression, reverting to the sweet friend he was supposed to be. He gestures with two hands, attempting to calm his friend. "Stiles, relax." He stares down the road. "I have a plan."

"A plan to get Lydia killed," Stiles mutters, kicking dirt beneath his feet.

"She'll be okay." It sounded pretty convincing. "We just need to buy enough time."

Stiles realizes that he has no idea what Scott is talking about. " - Time for what?"

The alpha almost smiles. "Time to see what Calvin's really about, for ourselves." At Stiles' slack-jawed annoyance and questioning eyes, he clarifies. "We're sneaking into his room. _Now_."


	15. Midnight

**Midnight**

_In the darkness before the dawn_

_In the swirling of this storm_   
_When I'm rolling with the punches_

_Leave a light, a light on_

_\- Coldplay_

 

Fourteen 

 

Stiles understood his job and he didn't fight his alpha on it. He was to follow Calvin's car (from a safe distance as to not alert the bastard of his presence) and keep tabs on their position, notifying Scott of their whereabouts while he snuck around the Easley's house. They didn't know where Forrest was, but he wasn't home and for that they were grateful.

Stiles knew he was clinging to the back of Calvin's car because he was supposed to let Scott know when he was getting close to the house to give the wolf enough time to get out, but in reality he was mostly just making sure that Lydia was okay. He'd been left out of the loop for so long, and while he didn't believe Calvin could be truly dangerous, he didn't know what he was capable of either. His thoughts lingered on the cat Malia so carelessly let out of the bag and the scenario's Lydia could have been in to leave bruises on her legs. He didn't want to think about it - but he couldn't _stop_.

_Lydia in pain. Calvin grabbing Lydia. Lydia_ _**scared** _ _._

He fiercely shook his head, gnawing on his lower lip. _No._ He wouldn't consider anything of the sort until it came from her lips. It was too horrible.

But that's when he became skeptical of what reasoning Lydia could possibly have to hide whatever it is that's tearing her apart from him. She knows more then she lets on, that's certain, but he couldn't understand why she was so against telling him the truth. He could help - _Scott_ could help. Especially if it had to do with this narcissistic fucker with a shell of a personality. And if it did, Stiles was baffled that Lydia hadn't already killed the guy herself. She had a talent for setting men straight yet she was letting Calvin suppress everything that made her unique and powerful.

He pauses as Calvin's car turns a corner - waits - and then slowly rolls his jeep forward. A red light separates Stiles from Calvin and Lydia, and he's ready to run it except a conveniant little cop car is parked along the side of the road, so he huffs and holds out, thrumming impatient fingers along the top of his steering wheel. If it takes too long, he'll lose them. He's not too sure which path Calvin is taking to Lydia's house.

He can't see what's going on inside the car, especially not from here, so he shoots Lydia a quick text.

_x-x-x_

Lydia's phone lights up, vibrating gently against her lap where it was situated. She positions the screen away from Calvin on the off chance that he tries to read over her shoulder.

_**R U OK?** _

Lydia angrily types back a simple " _Fuck you both_ ", fingernails jamming into the keys as if that could portray her frustration alone.

_**Uh-oh, what did I do now ?** _

She fights the overwhelming urge to chuck her phone out the window, harboring little tolerance to bother with the aggravation of a response. They should know what they did. _"I thought you were supposed to be smart, so why the F-U-C-K would you tell me to go with Calvin after that fight we got in tonight? Like I really want to talk about how I snuck around his room.."_

Calvin is making sheep eyes at her every few seconds, scrutinizing and trying to figure out who she was talking to and what she was saying. But he doesn't dare ask, apparantly he knows better than to think she'll be honest about it.

_**I'm sorry, I didn't know Scott was going to do that..** _

She chooses to ignore his response. If he wanted to, he could have easily stopped him. Her phone vibrates again less than two minutes later.

**Y** _**, is everything okay? I swear Scott and I have a plan.** _

Lydia froze at Stiles' words. How could they have a plan when they didn't even _know_? Unless they were so sick of her lies that they decided to learn the truth for themselves. How they were going to do that was a mystery, but as long as Calvin didn't find out what ever they were doing, she would let it happen. She could only pray that they weren't complete idiots about it.

"I'm sorry I acted so crazy," Calvin confessed, his voice laced with exhaustion and faux sincerity.

Lydia rolled her eyes toward the window but when she spoke it was soft and sweet. "...It's okay..." It was most certainly _not_ okay.

"So uhm," Calvin scratched the side of his jaw and gave her a quizzical look, his eyes appearing almost black in the darkness of the car. "Why did you sneak into my room?"

Lydia cranes her neck to give off the impression of confidence and she eyeballs him carefully. She crosses her arm and relays emotionlessly, "I thought you might be hiding something from me," she sucks her cheeks into her mouth, " - and if we're together, you can't keep secrets."

He blew cold air from his lips. "You know, Lydia, I'm working really hard at being the type of person could see yourself with." Agitation grips Calvin's deflated heart, "you could be a little more understanding."

"Sometimes there's a difference between working hard and working smart." She lifts her chin at him with dedication, the desire for him to see her as something other than weak almost suffocating. She wanted to intimidate him the way he intimidated her, to make him feel small and stumble over his words like a small child just learning to speak.

He sniffed at her and then nodded. "Yeah I guess you would know better than me." He ticked his head to one side curiously. "So what exactly did you see?"

Her mouth opens to tell him there was nothing but he holds a hand up at her and chuckles ominously.

" _Now_ Lydia, I don't want you lying to me again." He rolls his tongue along his front teeth in an animal-like fashion. "Just tell me what you saw and I won't be mad. It's not like I'm gonna _break up with you_ or anything."

That would be the easy way out; Lydia knew better then to think he'd let her go without a fight. What she really wants to ask about is what he _is._ Because she already knows what a slim chance there is that he's human. It's not a topic that'll come up easily, especially when he's expressed little to no knowledge of the strange happenings in Beacon Hills. He doesn't know that Lydia's a banshee, that she's in a pack of wolves and werecoyotes and kitsunes.

"I...saw..." her eyelashes flutter as she confesses. " - a journal." But she definitely won't be saying anything about the contents of his closet.

" _Hmm,_ " he hums lowly, barely moving except for the motions of his crumpling lips. He briefly turns to Lydia to spy out her anguish-stricken face, but it's not there. So much for being able to detect her lies easily. "And did you read it?"

"Only a little. There were a few passages about girls that you were interested in, and then some about your family. Most of it didn't make sense." She forces her body to remain still and her face impassive and unreadable.

"Maybe going forward you can just ask me when you have suspicions of something - instead of stealing from me and sneaking into my bedroom."

"O-Of course." Lydia slammed her eyes shut at the familiar meek sound of her own voice, strangled and worrisome.

Calvin does a slow double take as the car slides over a speed bump. "You look like something else is on your mind."

Lydia peers at her dreary reflection staring back at her in the tint of the window, frowning at the heavy pink markings under her eyelids that made her look so tired and done with this day ( _not that she wasn't)_. She wouldn't bring up Regan or her suspiciously placed body now, not until everyone at the school knew about it tomorrow. She didn't want to reveal that she was the one who found her, at least not yet. He already had such an advantage over her physically and psychologically with his manipulative way of thinking and acting, but she could still use her vast amount of knowledge to overpower him, even if it meant keeping him completely in the dark until she was ready to show her hand.

"It's nothing," she whispered into the emptiness of the car.

She wrings her hands together and scrapes her nails over the skin.

Calvin shifts his jaw and accepts her answer. He's suddenly distracted, instead of pushing the subject he's continously taking long glances at the rearview mirror, tilting it toward him and admiring something catching speed in the distance.

"Did you know that Stiles has been following us since about three miles back?"

Shocked by the unexpectedness of his question, Lydia almost doesn't know how to respond. "What? What are you talking about?" She swivels her body in the passenger seat, trying to see through the thickening sheen of darkness through the back window of the car. It's true that there's a car behind them, she can see its headlights, but a _jeep_? Is it really Stiles? Is this part of the alleged _"plan"_ he and Scott cooked up?

If it was, then it was already failing.

"See him?" Calvin rolled his neck like he was fighting a kink, seemingly unperturbed by Stiles' stalking and only casually admiring the oncoming vehicle and it's windshield wipers currently swiping at little raindrops.

Lydia could understand the complexity of that in some strange way. _Takes one to know one._

Panic strikes Lydia like the harsh pluck of a guitar chord as they pull into her driveway. Normally this would be a nice escape, but instead she has to face the reality of Stiles' jeep rolling up behind them.

_x-x-x_

Okay, so Stiles _never_ intended to let them know he was following them; after all, that wasn't part of the plan. He was supposed to keep tabs on Calvin, tell Scott when he was approaching his house after he dropped Lydia off. It was supposed to be easy, and they weren't supposed to know.

Unfortunately, he got a worrisome text from his best friend that claimed he needed more time - _a lot_ more. When Stiles asked what he found he didn't receive an answer, which only made him yank frantically at his hair in frustration.

So instead of letting Calvin say his goodbyes and hop back into his car to drive home, Stiles was _here_ \- prepared to distract the guy and hold him off until he got so annoyed he punched him in the face and left anyway; it was actually a pretty good excuse to say a few things to Calvin that he only daydreamed he'd get a chance to.

He slams his car door shut and can only snort at Lydia's wary scope, eyeing him carefully and probably trying to piece together his intentions here.

She tightens her spring green jacket around her body defensively, looking between the two boys as Calvin turns off the engine and moves to stand on the driveway beside her. Her gaze trails toward him, her senses on high alert.

Calvin immediately places his sole attention on Lydia, shielding her view of the mole-littered teen standing by the curb and brushing the tip of his thumb under her jaw.

"Go inside," he tells her firmly.

"What?" she tries to peek behind his lanky stature but he's immovable. "I should stay." Her hand clenches into a fist behind her back.

Calvin whips around to face Stiles, startling Lydia.

"Who are you here to see, Stiles?"

"Uhh," he narrows his eyes and glances toward the redhead. "You, actually. I wanted to talk."

Lydia cocks her head to one side, eyebrows molding into the shape of confusion.

"I'm actually really happy to hear that. _Surprised_ , but happy," he trails his fingers along the bark of a tree resting in the grass beside him. "There's actually something I wanted to ask you."

Stiles rocks against his heels, the picture of complete comfort and wry satisfaction with hands folded into his pockets. He appears callous and almost mocking with every expression he offers the bushy haired teen - one with matching brutal eyes that refuse to look away.

Lydia knows she's standing in the middle of some kind of pissing contest and she wants no part of it.

"Just," she pauses to bite on her wobbly lower lip, plump with concern. " _be nice to each other_." she points a warning finger. "Okay?" She'll be standing by the window watching either way.

"Don't worry about it, Lydia."

If anything, the comment made her feel even worse.

_x-x-x_

White hot rage was scoring painfully through Scott's veins, cold like ice but burning like fire as he tried to get a handle on his emotions - gripping Calvin's desk so tightly that his fingers were chipping the wood - but it was nothing compared to what Calvin himself would ultimately feel.

Calvin abusing one of _his_ people. One of his _pack_ \- and he let this happen.

It only took a few minutes of reading his journal to figure it out, to see what this motherfucking bastard had done. At first they were strangers, people Scott could feel sorrow for and maybe avenge - but then he read the newer entries; the sketch of Lydia and the cartoony bending letters that spelled out her name in bold font, written in pen at the top of his first entry about her; how he saw her at the movie theater that night a few long weeks ago. From the very first sentence it was disturbing, details about her body he couldn't have possibly known from four rows away. How could he be so sure about every contour and curve? It was obsessive, it was certainty that someone could be just as perfect as you envision them from the moment you lay eyes on their seamless form. But when they were thoughts that could convince yourself it's true there's something seriously wrong.

And there was. _Calvin_. _He_ was wrong. Everything about him was off from the moment they met him, Stiles had said so and he hadn't paid any mind to it. Even Kira thought they would be a perfect pair - she even suggested they start inviting him to more pack outings.

How sick that would've been; to validate his disgusting behavior and to let it be okay.

A few pages later Calvin used the word "love", of course pertaining to a certain strawberry haired girl who made him feel welcome in this "supernaturally infused town". _He used the word supernatural._

He told his little journal in graphic detail about the things he did to bother Lydia, the time he almost crashed their car to frighten her, times he shoved and touched her to make her feel misplaced and alone.

There was one passage that stuck out among the rest.

_**"I wormed my way inside her mind and now her friends won't know. I am so close to complete control. She's the one, I know she is and once I complete the ritual, she'll know it too."** _

He detects the scent of someone standing in the doorway behind him but is uncaring, slamming the journal shut and tucking it under his arm.

"You must be Calvin's brother," Scott nearly hissed, his claws making themselves known as his anger told hold.

"Yes but -," he's slammed up against the wall before he has a chance to defend himself, his throat pressed into with Scott's forearm, acting as a boulder that Forrest can't possibly shove away. "Let me explain!" He growls from underneath his rough grip.

"You knew what Calvin was up to." He slams Forrest's head back against the plaster of the wall, breaking the surface. " _You knew._ "

"Just let me _explain_!" Forrest shouts mightily, using all of the physical force he could gather to push Scott's shoulders.

The alpha allows himself to stumble backwards but returns once more with a brutal punch to the taller man's nose. It's only when he sees it leaking blood that he's satisfied with himself, biting back his fury with every piece of restraint he could hold onto.

"I wanted to tell you, I should've told all of you." The skinny man rubs the blood from his nose, his face wincing at the burning sensation that followed. "I'm sorry I didn't, but Calvin wouldn't let me."

"If you think these excuses mean anything to me you're full of shit." Scott gestures sloppily toward the closet, his shoulders hunched and tightened with unexpressed rage. He was going to let the guy talk for as long as he could stand to listen, then he'd probably return to pummeling him. Violence wasn't usually his go-to plan, but he was feeling his emotions in a powerful way that he'd never felt before, making his supernatural strength feel supreme like he could take down cities with the right motivation.

Scott considers his options logically, giving the older Easley a once over. He lets out a lengthy breath, releasing his rage with it. "Tell me everything."

He writes up a quick text for Stiles, telling him to keep Calvin distracted.

His next move after that would depend on the answers he received.

_x-x-x_

"I'm curious as to why you have this incessant need to follow my girlfriend around. It's starting to worry me a little."

"Your sad attempt at genuine concern is almost _laugh_ -worthy." Stiles glances toward Lydia's silhouette, hidden partly behind the drape of her window's curtain and ducking further behind it when she noticed that his eyes were on her; as if that would make him forget she was watching their exchange - as if it _mattered_ in the _first place._

Calvin deadpanned. "You think I don't care about Lydia?" something between a short exhale and a sardonic laugh escaped his parted lips. "Why on god's green earth would you believe something like _that_?"

Stiles runs his tongue over his teeth and wobbles his head at the other boy disdainfully. Calvin is aware of the creepy vibe he gives off but does nothing to correct it. He takes pleasure in the discomfort of others and because of that fact alone, Stiles hates him - and he especially hates that he's so intimately involved in the life of someone he cares about.

"I know you're bad news, alright? So don't try this cat and mouse thing with me because I see right through your little," he waves a hand in front of his face as he searches for the word, " - mask, thing. Even though it's not so much a mask since you don't even try to _hide_ it."

The wind chill surrounding them gets steadily worse as Calvin's expression becomes icy.

"Through with pleasantries then," his teeth grind together in unadulterated aggravation. "Did Lydia tell you that?"

"Lydia didn't tell me anything," Stiles replied quickly, dark eyes fixed on his - voice throaty and bitter, part from the day and a half without sleep and part resulting from the bastard in front of him. "Just stay away from her, okay?" He bites back the _'please'_ caught in his throat, knowing full well that it would only make him look more defenseless. So weak that he had to ask the enemy to do him a favor.

Calvin clucks his tongue, a pulsing vein in his neck becoming more bold and apparant as his upperbody tenses every muscle. "I don't believe you."

Stiles' entire face reverbs and scrunches at the unexpected comment. It wasn't the volatile reaction he'd been expecting, but he supposed it only made sense that Calvin would find a way to blame Lydia for something that had nothing to do with her - not _directly_ , anyway.

"It doesn't matter," Stiles glowers impatiently. "I want you to back off. She doesn't need you stirring up trouble in her life." Just from looking at him, he could see that Calvin's mind was cloudy with differentiating opinions, an inner turmoil brewing. He looked like he was in the middle of an argument with himself; or maybe he was trying to figure out a puzzle without all the pieces.

Stiles didn't even have _half_ of the puzzle.

"Why are we even having this conversation?" Calvin asks suddenly, brisk and to the point.

Stiles blinks through his confusion and clocks his fingers against his head like it should be obvious. "I'm warning you to leave Lydia alone, remember?"

"And I'm not sure why you would do that," the raven haired boy's eyes are frenzied with connecting thoughts. "there's _nothing_ she could have said to you to make you think I'm not good for her. Why are you telling me to stay away from her?" he cocks his head. "...unless this is just..." his eyes sparkle with knowledge while Stiles' dim with dread. They both know the missing words in that sentence were _"a distraction"_.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," when Calvin begins to make his way toward the car he hurriedly adds on, "but we're not finished here!"

"Oh _yes_ , we are."

The car door shuts just as it opens when Stiles throws his body against it, blocking the other boy's exit. He doesn't know why Scott needs so much extra time, but he's going to give as much a he can and hope it means they'll be getting some new answers.

"Get out of my way, Stilinski."

" _Just hold on a minute_!" He can feel the punch coming before Calvin's bulky fist ever connects with the side of his face, a cracking echo that he hoped wasn't the sound of his cheekbone snapping in two. He recoils, falling backwards and landing on his ass cluelessly as if the hit had knocked the sense out of him. Once he recognizes the predicament he's in his face burns red hot, flushing with embarrassment. He doesn't have long to contemplate his next course of action before Lydia's stomping over resolutely, cheeks puffed and eyes wide in the way that they always seem to be.

She shoots Calvin a hard stare but directs her attention to Stiles, helping him crawl to his feet with her hands pressing softly into his arms.

"He was in my way," Calvin defends.

"Just get out of here." Lydia shakes her head at him, running pink nails gently across the mark on Stiles' cheek. "That's gonna bruise. Does it hurt?"

"Nah, good thing Calvin hits like a clumsy fish." He sets his shoulders back to appear taller and uneffected by the emasculation and unbelievable amount of whiplash he was currently experiencing. It doesn't last long because he's falling lopsided against Lydia a short moment later. "Headrush," he explains loudly, unwilling to give Calvin the credit for his condition.

The other boy merely rolls his eyes and gets in his car with a promise to call Lydia later.

Once he's far enough away, Lydia turns to her friend. "Are you okay? I saw him hit you, you took a pretty hard fall."

Stiles blinks and his eyebrows knit together in confusion. "I don't remember falling."

" _Yeah..._ Maybe you should come inside." A reassuring smile lifts one side of her lips. "I'll get you an icepack and then maybe you can tell me why you were following us."

"Sure, sure. If you can justify the reason your _boyfriend_ is such a complete jackass. He's on par with Jackson right now." He massages his sore cheek and passes Lydia his phone. "Since I'm so horribly wounded, would you mind texting Scott? Tell him Calvin's on his way home."

Lydia narrows her eyes but complies. "It appears we have more to discuss than I thought," she mutters as her fingers press the buttons. "I... _cannot_ believe you two."

She helps him to the couch and sets him up with a cold pack. He holds it to his forehead lightly, his squinted eyes focused on a blushing Lydia who decidedly squints back dramatically to mock his expression.

His laugh is short and simple before he returns to his serious and studying demeanor. "Scott and I would do a lot of crazy things for you, Lyd." He brushes his knuckles against her shoulder in a friendly gesture. "I wish you saw that."

The banshee exhales through her nose, eyes rolling upward. "I love you guys, too."

What starts out as a small smile transforms into a wide grin overtaking his face, cheek-to-cheek. "You still don't get it," he says in disbelief. "Scott literally sees you as a sister. Some days it's the little sister he needs to protect and other days it's the older sister he looks up to," he shrugs one side of his body "But you're his family." he bites on his tongue at the stinging from the cut on his cheek. _Thanks to Calvin._

Her eyes brighten in appreciation. The compliment didn't necessarily come out of nowhere, after all, they were talking about he and Scott's plan... but after he wasted so much effort trying to drive a wedge between them it was baffling that he'd be so open and heartfelt with her. Yet at the same time, Lydia could see he was still attempting to leave _himself_ out of the equation.

"And what about you?" Lydia lowers her head, gazing up at him from beneath shadowed lids and blackened eyelashes. "...How do you see me?"

She can hear his hard swallow.

" _Lydia,_ " it comes out like a warning but almost sounds a little pained.

"I'm sorry I asked you that, I'm not sure why I did," flustered, she waves her hands between them. "That was stupid. You don't have to tell me how you feel, it doesn't matter." She folds her hands together in her lap, legs pressed firmly together where she sits across from him on the fluffy armchair.

He frowns, his own leg fidgeting against his leaning elbow. "You know you're..." his voice trails off at the chime of his ringing phone, still in Lydia's midst.

"It's Scott." Lydia presses 'talk' and sets the phone to speaker. He's babbling before they have the opportunity to say hello.

" _Stiles_ ," he breathes anxiously. "I broke in to Calvin's room... You won't believe what I saw. It's sick. I have so much I need to tell you so I'm going -..."

Lydia ends the call in the middle of Scott's sentence, worry clouding her expression.

"Why did you do that?" Stiles makes a move to grab the phone from her but she jolts up from the couch, holding it protectively behind her back with gloom in her strained eyes.

"Because I know what he's going to say to you," she sighs. "and if we're going to do this now, I want to be the one to tell you."

He scrutinizes her candidly, admiring her hunched form and taking it in with suspicion. "Tell me what, exactly?"

"The truth. About Calvin." she groans and admits, "what I know at least."

"Part of me thinks it would be easier to just call Scott back. We both know how great you are at the whole being honest thing."

"I promise," Lydia's eyes slip closed. "I'll tell you everything."

Determined to negotiate this deal until he was certain she'd follow through, he takes a few careful steps toward her, eyes burning with intensity. "No interruptions, no beating around the bush. _Everything_."

"Everything," she reiterates with a nod.

So she does. And by the time she finishes, she's more than just a little concerned about what might be going through Stiles' head. He was extremely quiet through her explanation, and now he was sitting so unnervingly still that it was frightening. Many times she considered how he might react, but never did she imagine he'd be so empty - like a robot awaiting instruction. He wasn't even looking _at_ her, but past her, jaw tight and teeth pressed, staring off toward the window despite the nothingness that was there. Lydia wants to call his name, to ask him if he's alright, but the words get caught in her throat and she nearly chokes on them. She tries again, but this time with physical contact - reaching a hesitant shaking hand out but hovering over the veiny back of his hand and alas pulling away.

The room was spinning under the weight of Lydia's revelation and Stiles was motion sick.

Though his shoulders are set and his body is tense, his breathing is heavy and coming out in shudders.

" _Stiles_?" She finally manages to say, albeit weak and apprehensive.

His eyes flit over to hers and her breath catches at the magnitude of darkness frozen there.

And then he stands abruptly, catching her off guard. But she follows after trying to catch his full attention, to snatch it away from his so mangled thoughts.

"Talk to me," she whispers with urgence.

"I'm going to kill him," a myriad of emotions flicker across Stiles' face; panic, fury, fear, sadness.

"Stiles..." she sighs. "It's not that easy."

"I'll _make_ it easy," the muscles in his neck stress, boldly expressing his emotion. "I'll rip his throat out I swear, I'll -..." he lets out a breath, long and extended. Then he drops his forehead to her shoulder in defeat and brokenly whispers, "how could I let this happen?"

"What?" Lydia blinks away the moistness in her eyes. "What the hell are you talking about? This is not on you it never was. It is not your responsibility to take care of me, I'm an independent person and I should've known better... I should've done something about it." Her tongue runs along her bottom lip and she confesses. "I guess I'm weaker than I thought I was."

He places a hand flat on her back, his nails lightly pressing into the cloth covering her skin. "Stop," he pleads. "I'm gonna do something about this. This isn't... this isn't you."

She feels him inhale sharply against the crook of her neck.

"None of this is right. Nothing about this is right. But I'm going to find a way..." he pulls back, painstakingly gentle with her like she could crack under pressure. " _We_ are going to find a way."

"A way to do what?" she laughs bitterly. "To kill a man?"

"He's no man." Stiles shakes his head at her fervently, fiercely rubbing tears from his flushed cheeks. "He's something else. We're going to find out what that is and then we're going to stop it."

She allows him to see the starkly visible pain etched in her green eyes, and he responds to her body language by pulling her into a loving embrace.

" - That won't be necessary," a voice calls, alerting them to the presence of two others they hadn't heard enter the house.

Forrest and Scott are standing there, faces matching with grim certainty.

Stiles steps forward. "What the hell is he doing here?"

"What you should be asking, is how I can help you," Forrest gives Scott a look, waiting for his gesture to continue. "I know you have a lot of questions and I'll answer them all."

"He told me everything he knows," Scott claimed, almost proudly. "And it's possible to stop him. But first there's something you have to understand..."

Stiles and Lydia exchange wary glances.

"What's that?"

"You were right about one thing," Forrest voiced, rich with honesty. "My brother's not exactly an average Joe."

"Yeah we kinda figured that out already," Stiles snapped. "Do we really need this guy?"

"You definitely need me. Otherwise, you'd have no way of knowing what Calvin really is."

"Okay," Lydia pressed her lips together, not entertained by his vague way of speaking. She didn't trust him, not in the slightest, but if Scott believed he had something worth listening to, she'd hang around for a little while. "Enlighten me. What is he?" she tilts her head at him jeeringly. "Merman? Chupacabra? Maybe some type of vampire cat?"

"Actually," Forrest smirks at just how little Lydia knows, at how unprepared she is. She has no idea what Calvin is capable of. She may have snuck around his room and taken a peek at his journal, found out about his obsessive stalker-like habits and issue with constantly murdering the women he claimed to be in love with, but she didn't _really_ know. Forrest on the other hand, he'd seen it first hand, so many times before. It had never ended well, but then again, no woman had ever found out about what he really was. He'd never actually met anyone with the capability of destroying the bastard. But know that he'd spoken to Scott, knew all about his werewolf pack, the kitsune and...the banshee... he knew of the possibility. He knew he could finally get rid of the bane of his existence, his annoying little brother that constantly forced him to move towns just because he couldn't control his urges - his desires. So he'd tell Lydia, he'd tell her everything. "He's an Incubus."

Lydia gapes at him, slackjawed. She takes one look at Scott before she knows just how true it is. Bewildered, the only thing she's capable of doing is blinking and uttering one tiny syllable -

" _Oh._ "


	16. Message in a Bottle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you feel that I'm portraying Lydia as pathetic and weak, this story is clearly not for you. It takes zero effort to leave a nasty review, and the only thing you're accomplishing by doing so is making me not want to write. I'm doing my best to accurately depict what an abusive relationship could be like in a supernatural world. Being victimized does not make you a weak person, and especially not pathetic.. It takes a true warrior to hit bottom just to rise above it, and I want to see Lydia rise from the ashes of her old life like a motherfucking phoenix. That being said, thank you to all of you for your amazing patience! I know I'm so behind in updates and I really want to make it up to you.
> 
> This chapter is very much told from Stiles' perspective and doesn't have a whole lot of Lydia's, but I thought I'd switch it up for a change so we could check in with our favorite resident human.
> 
> It's also a bit lacking in detail as this is very much the chapter where a bunch of mysteries are explained, which is mostly told through dialogue and not action. Thanks again for all of your wonderful support!

**Message in a Bottle**

_Just a castaway_

_An island lost at sea_

_Another lonely day_

_With no one here but me_

_More loneliness_

_Than any man could bear_

_Rescue me before I fall into despair_

\- The Police

 

Fifteen 

 

Regan's death was the talk of the town, labeled a tragic accident and prompting the school's anti-drunk driving alliance to host a massive organization. There was an assembly for the first two periods of the day and by lunch Lydia was seeing posters hung up all over the halls. If only they knew what she knew. That thought alone gave Lydia the mental image of an anti-abuse campaign, blood red banners promoting students to report to the counselors office if they believed their friend was in actual danger of the romantic kind.

She tries to steer clear of her friends for as long as they'll let her, but she can see every lingering glance, practically feel every hushed whisper. She knows Scott told the rest of the pack about Calvin, there's no reason he wouldn't. Not when Calvin could be anywhere at any time, planning ghastly deeds he wouldn't confide in even his personal journal.

Of course, no one had actually seen Calvin since the other day, because that would've been too easy. Lydia only worried that Malia and Kira might act differently around him the next time they spoke - that they might give away the secret she was literally risking her life to keep. If Calvin knew that she knew the truth it would be over and she might never stop him. He could go on to kill dozens of other girls when she had the prime opportunity to prevent it, and for that Lydia could never live with herself.

She was blindly grabbing for a Math binder buried meticulously inside of her locker when her ears perk up at the unexpected sound of Stiles' monotone cracked voice. She keeps her head low, wavy hair skirting around her pale cheeks as if it would help her remain unseen. They were too far to hear, but they were undoubtedly disagreeing about something regarding the resident Incubus of Beacon Hills.

Stiles and Scott are deeply engrossed in conversation, the alpha doing his best to keep his friend calm and more importantly quiet, hands thrown up and beckoning while the other is waving his arms passionately, red with determination.

Puffing his cheeks, Stiles steps closer to Scott, trying to block the boy's view of his own locker in an effort to keep his attention solely on the words he's saying.

"Scott, I just want to see it."

Scott reaches into his locker for the sake of occupying his calloused hands, pretending to be searching for something important. "I'm sorry, Stiles," one side of his lips lift in empathy, almost smiling sadly. "I don't think it's a good idea..."

"Why _not_?"

Scott admires Stiles' expectant stare for a moment, but he sighs and drops his hand from his locker. "Why do you even want it, anyway? Lydia told you everything. That should be enough."

Stiles shakes his head solemnly. "Not everything, Scott." If he were masking the storm behind his eyes before, that disguise was all but completely gone now. It wasn't easy to put up a facade around his best friend - his _brother_. "She left out the gory details I _know_ she did because I _know_ her - all thinking she's being selfless and noble by sparing my feelings but all it's doing is making my heart feel heavy and terrified because I don't have any clue what this fucker is really capable of. I have to know, Scott, I have to." He's nearly breathless when he stops and is sure his face is as red is it feels. He can tell that that Scott thinks so too in the way his brow furrows with concern, his hand reaching out to touch his shoulder reassuringly.

"It's okay, Stiles." The alpha sighs, his forehead wrinkling under the weight of the decision that had to be made. He could betray Lydia's trust by going against her wishes and letting Stiles read the diary or he could betray Stiles' trust by going against his wishes and not letting him read it. He was always stuck in the most unfair position he could possibly be in, but it was one of the burdens to bear when you're leading an entire pack of supernaturals (and occasionally the non-kind).

"It's not okay," Stiles grits out between tightly clenched teeth. "He's been terrorizing her since he met her, scaring her, hurting her. Making the fiercely loyal Lydia Martin feel like she can't trust even her own pack. He held her down under water until she blacked out, nearly got her into a car accident and most definitely killed someone she used to care about. And hell, he hasn't even popped up for the grand finale yet." The alpha's locker slams shut upon contact with Stiles' tense hand. His breathing is shaky from moderately concealed fear and his eyes are black with fury he no longer tries to blanket. "Scott... it is most certainly _not_ okay." He takes one careful step forward. "And if you tell me that again, I'm not sure I'll be strong enough to stop from flipping my lid."

Scott sucks his cheeks into his mouth, glancing at the tense veiny arm leaning against his locker, preventing him from opening it again. He's quiet when he speaks again. "Fine," he whispers. "I'll let you read Calvin's journal. But I want it back by lunch, got it?"

He nods frantically. "Yes, yes thank you."

"Now, would you mind moving your arm off my locker so I can actually get the thing?"

"Oh." Stiles pulls back sheepishly, clearing his throat. "Right."

"Why are you hiding under your hair?"

Lydia jolts at Kira's sudden appearance, the girl tilting her head to see underneath the shroud of red hair cloaking her face.

"I-I'm not," she tears her eyes away from Stiles, curiosity icing her veins. If he and Scott had the balls to plan something without her, it wasn't going to end well. It was part of the reason they shouldn't have found out so soon, now that every conversation they had without her was giving her aching paranoia.

"We should walk to class together!"

Lydia narrows her eyes at the Kitsune. "Don't you have English now?"

"Yeah well, I can walk you to your class and then I can go to mine. I really don't mind being a minute or two late, my teacher's an honest to god snore."

Realization strikes Lydia and she fights the urge to roll her eyes. "Kira..."

" - and I was wondering if you wanted to hangout after school? You could come to my place and maybe even sleepover! My dad wouldn't mind taking us both to school tomorrow, he thinks you're great."

"Scott asked you to keep an eye on me," Lydia states abruptly, a small shrug of her shoulders. If there was one thing that Kira excelled at, it was being obvious.

"What?" Her eyes are avoiding. "No he didn't."

"I'm not stupid, Kira. And I'm not a child. So I really don't appreciate being mislead or lied to, _got it_?" Lydia jeers coldly, an eyebrow shooting up sharply.

Cover now blown, Kira blows air through her nose and shifts her weight between feet. "I'm sorry, okay? But I'm not here because of Scott," at the Banshee's look, she continues. "Well, not just because of Scott. I care about you. You're my _friend_ ," she adds on for good measure, "whether you like it or not."

Lydia cracks a smile for a second so short that it could've easily been missed. "You're a good person, Kira. So I want you to trust me when I tell you that you're better off not getting involved any more than you have to. Scott thinks he knows what he's dealing with but he doesn't."

"What, and you do?" Kira drawls in disbelief, shaking her head even as Lydia crosses her arms defensively. Someone was going to have to talk some sense into her and it was pretty damn obvious that it wouldn't be Scott. "You know nothing about this guy other than what he is. You don't even know what it means. So stop acting all high and mighty like you're Buffy the freakin' incubus slayer." The widening of Lydia's eyes briefly made Kira wonder if she'd crossed the line. She began plucking at her sleeve intently, avoiding direct eye contact.

Lydia's eyebrows went up in surprise, but her face broke out in a sly smile. "I knew there was a lioness in you. You should let her out more."

"I would but then I'd end up in danger of Lydia-proportions."

The Banshee angles her head and taps a finger to her lips. "Are you saying my personality gets me in to trouble?"

"I'm saying you're danger prone. And a supernatural magnet." Her tone drops as a more serious question springs from her lips. "What else did you find out? About Calvin I mean. Scott was kinda vague about it all when he told me to look after you."

Lydia's eyes are haunted for just a split second. She could stand here and recap all the awful things Forrest told her and feel like complete shit for the rest of the day or she could say nothing and feel like shit anyway - the difference being that it's a lot easier to do nothing.

She purses her lips, placing a hand on her hip and changing the subject as abruptly as it was brought up. "Didn't you say you were gonna walk me to class?"

Kira's confusion melts into understanding. She repositions the strap of her violet colored backpack and smiles warmly. "Of course, Lydia."

 

_x-x-x_

 

"Forrest said that Calvin's been feeding on Lydia's energy or life source or what ever the hell since the night they _met._ That's a month of that chaotic fuck sneaking into her room and messing her up! _Not_ that I exactly know what it means to have your energy drained while you sleep."

Malia slams her textbook shut, startling her boyfriend and nearly the entire class. "Stiles, I don't mind you going over the same thing over and over again, but can you at least say it in a different way? We get it, Calvin's an asshole."

When the attention of the class is no longer captured by them, Stiles quietly responds. "He's more than just an asshole, Malia." His voice is disapproving.

"Instead of whispering about it in Math why don't we _do_ something about it?"

Stiles lips curl, remembering the current plan. "Scott's going to see Deaton during lunch - _after_ he does me a small favor, and I'm staying in school today to keep an eye on Lydia and Calvin." He drums his fingers on his desk and cocks his head. "Unfortunately, Calvin isn't here. Which is why Scott just left to try and get in touch with Forrest."

Considering this, Malia chews her lip, bug eyed and concerned. "You think Calvin found out he ratted him out?"

"He better not. Not until we find out how to kill an Incubus."

"I don't get it. Why did Forrest tell us everything? Their relationship is confusing, even to a coyote."

"He said that Calvin would've figured it out because Lydia had left her scent all over his room. It would've been suspicious if Forrest didn't tell him the truth before he smelled it himself." Off Malia's look, Stiles feels the need to clarify, "Not that I trust him. I think we should all be really careful around him."

"Do you think Calvin would really kill Forrest? Or that Forrest would really kill Calvin if it came down to it?"

"If Forrest doesn't help us, there will be one more dead Incubus on our hands."

Pondering this revelation, Malia scrunches her brows together. "If Forrest is an Incubus why isn't he evil? Doesn't he need to feed off the energy of women for, like, _food_?"

The boy's eyes slide shut in mild annoyance. "You're asking a lot of questions," he mock-shouts in the hush of a whisper, flailing his hands exaggeratedly in his seat. "And it bothers me even more that I haven't even thought about any of that."

Doing her best to reassure him, Malia forces a smile, "I'm sure none of that is very important anyway. We should focus on getting Calvin out of our lives."

Stiles isn't so sure, but nods anyway. " _Yeah..._ "

Malia spends an entire three minutes doing her best not to ask another question when an inescapable one wanders into her brain and bursts free. "What is it going to do to her? Lydia, I mean. Calvin _'sucking up her energy'._ What does that do?"

"It feeds him, like you said. It gives him power, including the power to mystically manipulate Lydia's decision making and thought process while at the same time taking away her ability to fight it." He taps his thumbs against the desk, looking down at the dark wood sadly. "That's why she didn't tell any of us what he was doing.. she couldn't." He winces as the words leave his mouth, leaving behind a bitter taste. "And he used the fucked up magic he got from feeding off Lydia to shield the truth from Scott. It's why he never realized her heart would pick up speed whenever Calvin was around, that she'd get crippling anxiety when his name would come up."

He glances forward, the trajectory of his line of sight landing directly on Lydia a few rows over and ahead. Seated near the front and appearing lost in her thoughts, she absent mindedly flicks a pen between her pink fingers, hair clipped back and exposing the beautiful large features of her secretly freckled face.

"But _I_ should've known." A knot swells in his throat, painful and burning.

Malia can see the raw guilt built up in the center of his eyes. She reaches out to touch his arm, a gentle reassurance. "You couldn't have known, none of us saw it. It's not your fault... it's not Lydia's. It's Calvin's. He did this."

"And I'm not fixing anything by just sitting here. I have to _do_ something," his fist clenches where his arm hangs at the side of his chair. "Every minute is precious."

The Werecoyote looks between her boyfriend and the redhead in a dress too cheery for her depressing disposition. She holds her breath and tries to understand - but finally releases it when she can't grasp at what he's trying to say. "What do you mean?" She stares at Lydia to search for something he sees that she can't.

" _I mean,_ " Stiles stresses whilst gesturing a hand toward the girl his eyes intently focus on. "She looks like she's wasting away."

When Malia looks at Lydia again, she sees her in a different way. She squints her eyes and takes a closer look than she would've before, admiring every freckle that she can possibly see from her seat closer to the back of the room. She can see the worn bags rimming her eyes and the weight in her heart evidenced by the dimness of her green eyes. And even though Malia's always gone back and forth with whether or not she actually liked Lydia, in that moment she felt a primal need to protect her packmate tugging in her chest and setting off an alarm in her brain.

"You're right," she bobs her head eagerly. "We're not doing enough."

_x-x-x_

 

Stiles is sitting at lunch with tracing eyes pinned on the entrance to the cafeteria. Scott's arrival was impending and with him there would be not only news of Forrest's whereabouts and an answer to the question of his liveliness but Calvin's personal journal, a gateway to the thoughts in his head plagued by that of none other than a supernatural monster.

He's quietly sipping a small cup of whole milk, ignorant to the creamy mustache painted along his upper lip. He knows Lydia is probably around here somewhere, undoubtedly being harassed by an overprotective Kitsune and Werecoyote. He had to smirk at that thought; at least the girls were getting along better.

Scott appears at the doorway, adrenaline piercing his veins and his eyes wild.

Stiles gets up so quickly he nearly trips trying to climb off of his seat.

The alpha calms significantly when his eyes finally settle on his best friend, gesturing him toward the entrance.

"Do you have it?"  
"Have what?" At the irritated look on his face, he remembers, "Oh, right." He quickly passes over the journal but snaps Stiles' attention away from it with a literal click of his fingers. "Forrest is in the parking lot. Where's Lydia?"

"He's in the... what?" Stiles hangs his head in bewilderment. "Why?"

"Lydia. Where is she?"

Stiles turns halphazardly, pointing a finger blindly. "I think she's..."

His voice trails off as Scott locates her much faster than he can, rushing forward as a blur to reach her. Stiles chases after to discover a puzzled Lydia staring at Scott.

"Can I help you?" She growls when he grabs for her arm and leans in to inspect her, pulling it away.

Ignoring the attitude she's giving him, Scott reaches in again, this time snatching something unseen behind her ear.

"Is it _'bother Lydia'_ day or something?"

Stiles briefly admires Lydia's ability to act like nothing is serious enough to touch her emotions.

The alpha holds up his hand to show off the tiny shining object pinched between his thumb and middle finger.

"What the hell is that?" she audibly gasps.

Stiles takes another route, licking his lips roughly. "Maybe you should start from the beginning, huh Scotty?"

Swallowing hard to brace himself, he nods his head appreciatively, mellowing slightly.

"Calvin stayed home from school today claiming to be sick."

"Okay? So? At least he's out of our hair for one solid day. But I'm not sure what that has to do with..." his gaze flickers in Lydia's direction and then toward the metallic button in Scott's palm.

"No, Stiles, _listen to me_." Scott leans forward to emphasize the importance of what he's trying to tell him. "Incubi don't get sick, it isn't possible. He's planning something."  
Aware of the fact that they're still missing a vital piece of information that Scott is almost too afraid to share, the teen squints his eyes cautiously. "I don't understand. What could he be planning? What is that thing?"

Scott guiltily flitters toward the tile, then up toward Lydia.

She breathes in deeply. "Tell us."

"Last night, after Forrest told us everything and we left... Apparently when Calvin got back they got into it."

Stiles and Lydia continue to stare cluelessly.

"It's a tracking device," he eventually relents. "He must've planted it on you a few days ago or something.. So, he knew that we were with Forrest at the house. And he also realized his journal had been taken.."

"What does that - what does that mean, Scott?"

Stiles studies the girl carefully, the heavy rise and fall of her chest indicating a rapid heartbeat - one he wasn't surprised to see on full display. His wasn't fairing much better, after all. He was still caught on the _"tracking device"_ portion of this revelation, while Lydia seemed to be losing her mind over a prospect he never even considered.

"It means he knows," Scott explained lowly, knowing full well that he had failed his pack. "He knows everything."

While Lydia has a crisis, wrapping her arms around herself and wishing to disappear, Stiles seeks real answers.

"Forrest _told_ him?"

"He didn't have a choice, he already knew we were working with him."

"And Forrest just had to fill in the blanks for him, right?" Stiles chuckles bitterly, spitting the words. "We can't trust him, Scott!"

"I know that!" He snapped back with twice as much vigor. "Lydia," his forehead dimples with concern, "Are you alright?"

"What do we do next?" She immediately asks, leaving no room for more overly emotional moments among the group. She couldn't handle that right now because if they showed weakness then she would fall apart. They needed to be strong and she needed to be strong for them too, otherwise they would never get ahead of Calvin.

"Well, Forrest is waiting for me in the parking lot. I've gotta get to Deaton's and see what he knows about Incubi and how to kick ones sorry ass."

"I'm coming with you, don't you dare argue with me on the subject."

Scott smiles warmly at Lydia, having expected nothing less. "I know. I'll feel better knowing you're with me."

Her eyes automatically roll upward. "Don't play the brother card on me now, Scott." She's already heading for the door. "Don't keep me waiting, I've got another pimple to pop. And by pimple, I of course mean Calvin."

His friend barely gives him a look that says he might speak before Stiles opens his mouth. "Where red goes, I go." He pats him on the shoulder. "But if you think I'm gonna play nice with Forrest you're sadly mistaken." He keeps Calvin's journal tucked securely in his backpack, hidden away from Lydia's plain view. He didn't want her to get pissed off at him for going against her wish, but he just had to read it.

At least finally, they were going to get a few solid steps further in their quest to get rid of Calvin. The elephant in the room regarding "murder" hadn't exactly been brought up, but each one of them knew they would do exactly what it took, however evil the solution might seem. The running theory was that Calvin deserved anything he got and worse - and they would continue to think that way to get them through this.

 

_x-x-x_

 

"I guess what I'm not understanding here is why it took you so long to tell me what was going on," Deaton's brow was furrowed as he dourly admired Scott and urged an honest answer of him. "Maybe you thought you were protecting her - but I could've helped you, I'd hoped you realized that you can come to me about these things."

Scott frantically paced, scratching anxiously at his jaw. "I would've told you sooner, I just found out myself."

"Right." Deaton frowns at Scott's level of apprehension, coming off him in such strong waves that it was beginning to affect him. "Still, you should've come to me right away."

The alpha stops abruptly in front of Deaton, hope sparking in his dark eyes. "Does that mean you know everything there is to know about Incubi?"

"If you're asking me how to kill one, I could always use one of my sources to find out," his line of sight lands on the suspiciously tall Forrest. "However, one might argue that it would be easier to ask _him_."

"That's what you think," Stiles glowered. "He's a lot less helpful than you might think - and possibly evil."

"I'm not evil."

"Oh yeah, and that's reassuring. How do we know you're not a bad Incubus like your favorite little brother?"

"Because I'm not an Incubus at all," Forrest does his best to hold back the growl laced through his voice, but it still comes out sharp and near threatening. "My mother was a Succubus and Calvin inherited the male equivalent of that trait. I ended up like my father..." he says it like it's an insult to his own name, "Human."

"Wait a minute, you have parents?"

"I did, once." He sighs as he realizes that he's going to have to delve into his family history, a topic he'd like to avoid more than any other. "Incubi feed off of women and Succubus off of men. Usually they'll suck up their entire life force in one go and then all that's left is a body to pose in such a way that it looks like they were in an accident. Except for the rare times where my mother and Calvin would get lazy and not even bother.. They had so much in common because of their gifts. They would go out together and tear up the town, usually by painting it red. The problem with my brother was that he would become fixated with specific women he'd meet - women like Lydia. He'd be convinced that they were his soulmate and try to control their very existence and make it just for him... My father and I tried to support their habit because we knew it was how they got their nourishment but it was just so horrible - so grisly. Every meal was a bloodbath."

"And you never tried to stop them?" Disgusted but not showing it, Deaton tries to fill in the rest of the story.

"My father wanted us to work together to stop them... _kill_ them. But I didn't go through with it. I left him to do it on his own and the people I love most slaughtered my goddamn dad. I watched it happen and I didn't do anything. So they thought I was loyal to them. I never even tried fighting back after that. Not until now."

"Where is your mother now?"

"Where all Succubus go when they die, I suppose. Probably some type of hell dimension, paying for her maliciousness."

"How did she die? What killed her?" It's this type of information that will give them the power to kill her son.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you _don't_ know?"

"I wasn't there, I only found her body after it was already over. She never told me how an Incubus could be killed out of fear that it would make it more likely to happen to me. She was supersticious in that way."

Stiles shook his head, "Do you have any idea how little that story helped us? We're not even a little bit closer to understanding what the hell it is we're supposed to do now."

Deaton grimly purses his lips. "I'll get to work on contacting my sources." He moves away from the group in search of a phone.

Scott and Lydia are arguing lowly while Stiles is seated beside Forrest at the other side of the room, watching but saying nothing.

Forrest catches Stiles' line of sight and asks in the most inappropriate timing he can seem to find, "Have you and Lydia ever been involved? Incubi can sense a sexual connection, you know."

The boy hisses his disdain and shakes his restless leg in discomfort.

"Have you slept together? Might explain why brother hates you so fucking much."

Stiles springs to his feet. "Say, guys, how about I drive you home? It's gonna be a long night, and Deaton will call us when he finds out what we need to know."

Deaton comes back in the room at that moment, a phone clenched in his hand.

"Actually, I think I'm gonna stick around," Scott is staring directly at Forrest. "Forrest can't go home because Calvin might kill him and I'm not leaving Deaton alone with him."

Narrowing his eyes, the tall human scoffs his disbelief. "I've told you people my entire life story and you still don't trust me."

"No, and we never will," the Banshee claims tactlessly. "I think maybe we should all just stay."

"Stiles is probably right," Deaton disagrees.

Lydia can feel the Druid's eyes combing over her ghostly pale skin, the bags under her eyes. It makes her feel self-conscious.

"You should go home and get some rest, you look ill."

"I'm not feeling too hot, either, honestly."

Deaton checks her head with the back of his hand, "And you're burning up..."

"It's a symptom of soul sucking," Forrest chimes in helpfully. "As long as Calvin doesn't get a chance to take any more from you it'll be fine."

"You didn't think to mention this before?"

He heaves a sigh at their obvious mistrust. "Everyone's different. I didn't think it would have a physical manifestation on a Banshee, but apparantly I was wrong."

Stiles points a sturdy finger in his direction, somehow still appearing baffled. "How is someone not always punching you?"

"Come on Stiles, take a dying girl home," Lydia pleads. She isn't sure if the placebo of knowing why she wasn't feeling so great today was making her feel suddenly worse or if it was in actuality getting steadily harder to ignore.

"Fine, but _don't_ say that."

She's pulling on the arms of her coat when the room grows darker and her a fog settles over her mind. She nearly falls but Scott is there to catch her.

"Are you okay!?"

He helps her get her jacket the rest of the way on at her hazy smile.

A twinge of panic had plucked at the strums of Stiles' heart upon seeing Lydia experience what turned out to be a mere headrush, unable to quell the feeling that there was something more happening inside her.

When they're leaving the vet, she's leaning her weight into his side as a source of balance. He doesn't mind the added warmth, but the Lydia's fierce silence is something that bothers him to no end. He hugs her a little tighter before he has to let her go, helping her into the passenger seat and rushing back around to the driver's side.

 

_x-x-x_

 

Lydia flips on the light switch, illuminating her bedroom. Her eyes are almost too sensitive to handle it, but she refuses to accept that and settles along her bed.

"Do you think we're playing right in to Calvin's hand?" She queries, placing her bag on the floor in front of her. "He could have anything up his sleeve."

"I wouldn't worry _too_ much about it, he's a lot stupider than he thinks he is."

Lydia cracks a smile, but her statement is grim. "He's going to kill me."

Stiles tosses his backpack beside Lydia's, where it pathetically flops onto its side and spills out half its contents. "No the fuck he is not. Don't be crazy."

But Lydia isn't listening, because she's looking at the floor.

"Isn't that Calvin's journal?"

It was in that moment that Stiles knew he was busted.

"Uhh," he scratches at his hairline. "It might be."

"Why do you have it?"

Stiles presses his lips together and confesses with shuttering eyelids, "I asked Scott to give it to me so I could find out everything. Since you wouldn't let me have it."

She grinds her teeth together. "I didn't let you have it because most of that stuff is on a need to know basis, and only _I_ need to know. Have you _read_ it?"

Stiles' arms flop to his sides, moving to sit beside her. "What difference would it make? You should've told me everything and you didn't. Don't you think the stuff he writes in there is all need to know? Nothing is excluded."

"You have no business rifling into something that's supposed to be private, you ass!" She chucks the journal into his stomach.

He keels over and sucks in a sharp breath. "Okay, I might have deserved that for being such an ass these past few months but definitely not for getting the journal. I deserve to know what this fucker is capable of, we all do. We need to know what we're dealing with here."

Lydia stares, choleric, for a long minute before she wobbles her head in an annoyed shake. "I'm going to bed. Turn off the light, would you?" She climbs under the covers.

"Lydia..."

"Just fucking turn it off!"

Darkness flushes over the bedroom and Stiles plops into the seat and her desk. He refuses to punish himself for something he fully believes he should have done, even now. At least if Lydia was sleeping he'd finally have some time to read the thing.

 

_x-x-x_

 

Moonlight peaks out through the sleek blue curtain in Lydia's room, casting a gentle ray of white light over her sleeping form, a comforter heavily draped over her body. It hadn't taken long, she'd barely gotten her second shoe off before her eyes were fluttering closed and then heavy under the weight of sleep. She was humming to herself, dreaming of some place peaceful, a place that was undoubtedly far away from Beacon Hills.

Stiles wouldn't be leaving her that night - or any other night that Calvin was still breathing.

Every so often he peeks out the window for his own peace of mind, a paranoid voice telling him that Calvin was going to stop by and do something. He kept his thumb hovered over the "Call" button on his phone, Scott's number already dialed. There was no telling when an emergency might occur, when Calvin would finally take the fight to them. They'd been waiting for him to make a move but he was quiet on all fronts and there was nothing more unnerving.

The crickets chirping serve as the perfect lullaby and Stiles finds himself jerking awake some time later. He doesn't know how long it's been, but he knows if he doesn't splash some water on his face it's going to keep happening. Tonight he's on watch, and tonight he wouldn't be sleeping.

The bathroom adjoining Lydia's bedroom seemed too personal for him to use, so he goes down the hall to the bathroom he's sure he's welcome.

The water is cold and inviting, giving him a burst of fresh air that prickles his skin and jumpstarts his brain. He dries off on a hand towel before he heads back to her room, thoughts on a sleeping redhead nestled tightly in her bed. Only - she isn't in her bed.

"Lydia?" He calls worriedly, rushing forward and running his hands over the comforter to be sure the large wrinkle in the center isn't a cleverly disguised teenage girl. "Lydia, this isn't funny."

A wretching noise echoes from her personal bathroom, a choked cry of pain.

He twists at the doorknob but it doesn't budge, locked from the inside.

"Come on Lydia, open up." He wraps his fist harshly against the wood. "Let me in!"

" _Stiles,_ " she wheezes.

That's when he throws himself against the door, his entire body weight making a crackling sound as the wood splinters. He does it again and again, and eventually it collapses under the force, folding inward and narrowly avoiding the girl on her hands and knees. She's vomiting blood and _god_ , it's everywhere.

He doesn't know what to do but he knows he needs to make it better, crawling beside her and shuffling his hands along her back. He doesn't take any notice of the blood he's sitting in, reaching for her and rubbing the dribble of thick red liquid off of her chin. She stares fearfully into his eyes before it's happening again, shivers forcibly running through her heaving body and escaping as a bloody substance that makes her feel like she can't breathe, like she's drowning again but instead of blue overwhelming her vision she sees red. Red, and Stiles' tear filled eyes.

"Lydia!" He shouts, holding onto her despite her violent thrashing. " _Please,_ " he begs some unseen god, rubbing his nose into her shoulder and trying to comfort her to the best of his ability.

When the vomiting subsides, she has her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and it's almost uncertain if she's seeking out comfort or offering it. Either way, Stiles can certainly use it.

" _Please don't die_ ," Stiles whispers into the crook of her shoulder, muffled by the swell of her sweater-covered arm. He holds onto her in the way he hopes she'll hold onto this life.

"I'm okay," she croaks. "I'm sick, but I'm okay."

"This is not okay," he presses his wet eyes shut, feeling her sweater soak up his tears like a sponge. At least she won't see his puffy wet face.

"What are we supposed to do?" She eventually asks, when she has the strength in her vocal chords.

"We'll figure it out," his fingers splay over her shoulder. "We always do."

"What if this time is different?"

"There's nothing different about some narcissistic asshole who thinks he can ruin our lives. This isn't the first time and it probably won't be the last." He leans back and flinches at the blood sticking onto their clothing. "Come on, let's clean you up and get you back in bed. I'll give Scott a call and let him know what's going on." He pulls her to her feet, but she goes in for another bear hug as soon as they touch the ground.

"I'm sorry for being so sensitive. You have every right to read the journal, there's no one I trust more with it."

His heart swells with love for the amount of faith she decided to put in him, and he could only swear to never take advantage of that.

"I appreciate it. Now let's get you in the shower before my throw up joins yours on the floor."

Lydia voices her disgust after the appropriate amount of chuckling, something she could withstand the burning in her chest and throat for just this one time.

Calvin thought she was weak - he thought he could _make_ her weak with a little soul sucking and fear-inducing behavior. But she was going to prove him wrong. She was going to avenge not only herself but all of the other people that died as a direct result of his family's macabre killings.

Now that Lydia knew he'd been controlling her mind, she knew she could begin to fight him on it. The bitch was back, and she wasn't going to go down so easily. Not after drowning, nearly choking on her own blood and shedding so many tears she could fill up her very own swimming pool.

Lydia Martin wasn't going to waste one more tear on someone who drank it in. She was completely and without qualification _pissed off._


	17. Give the Devil Back His Heart

_x-x-x_

**Give the Devil Back His Heart**

_Every bone I beg_

_Every puppet show_

_Every by-gone that says "Baby don't be that way"_

_Every dog on the prowl, every Julius_

_Every moth barreling towards a flame_

_Is that my sun coming over the hillside?_

 

_Father, pray for us_

_We are not sleeping while the others are sleeping_

 

Sixteen

Most days Lydia's beauty sleep was disrupted by the shrill sound of her alarm clock, rattling her bones and tearing through peaceful dreams to unfairly drag her back into reality. If it wasn't her alarm it was the obnoxious sunlight streaming through her drapes and making direct contact with her shuttered eyes, simultaneously waking her up and blinding her.

Out of all the things that Lydia could have woken up to, the last thing she expected to see was Stiles curled beside her. His back was to her, but the steady rising and falling of his form assured her that he was in a deep sleep.

It was dark in her room yet the moonlight stretching over Stiles outlined the shape of his body, illuminating the deep blue t-shirt that clung to him in all its wrinkled glory and the unbuckled jeans he must've loosened for his own comfort. It wasn't a sight Lydia entirely minded, although she wouldn't allow herself to get too caught up in that miniscule detail.

His presence was comforting, even despite his inability to actually offer any type of solution if Calvin were to unexpectedly make in appearance in the wee hours of the morning - or late at night - depending on how you looked at it.

Lydia scoots a little closer to the warmth radiating off of her best friend, lightly rubbing her nose into the cotton covering his back. Her nose instinctively creases at the vague smell of sweat emitting from his armpits, but she could forgive him this one time. After all, his lack of showering had every bit to do with the fact that he hadn't left her alone in hours. His excessive persperation could probably be related back to the stress of the day and all the fear that came with it.

She was glad to finally have all that blood off her. Watching it swirl down the drain had been just as much horrifying as it was hypnotizing. She was in there so long that Stiles kept checking in on her every so often, pressing his ear to the door and asking if everything was still okay. Each and every time it was, but she still enjoyed being asked.

The Banshee uses her sharpest nail to scratch at Stiles' shoulder blade, attempting to rouse him in a way far more soothing than her bitchy little alarm clock.

He moans in his sleep, shifting further into the mattress as if it would stave off the eventual opening of his eyes.

" _Stiles,_ " she croons, moving on to her elbows to find better balance. "Wake up."

"Go away dad," he groans into her fluffiest pillow.

"Dad?" She leans in and lifts the tip of his ear to whisper delicately into it, " _do I sound like your father?_ "

He immediately claps a hand over his ear, slowly becoming fully aware. "Your breath is tickling me." When he rotates his body to face her, the corner of the pillow foolishly sticks to the drool at the corner of his mouth.

"What are you doing here?" She smirks, amused.

He thwacks the pillow away as if it had offended him, trying to regain some manly points he's not sure he ever had. "Protecting you?" That sounded so much more genuine in his brain.

"My hero." Her eyes visibly twinkle, even through the mask of night. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"No, but a little birdy says that you're about to tell me." He flops his head against the pillow to find the squishy spot he'd fallen asleep so easily on before.

"It's 4AM. Isn't your dad going to be worried?"

He collects the blanket and pulls it higher over them as he studies her face, gnawing gently on his lower lip. "Nah, I told him there was a pack emergency and that I might not be back tonight."

"And that was enough of an answer for him?"

"He's used to it by now. Or at least he knows he should be." His fingers trace absent mindedly over her knuckles, her hand resting between them on the bed. They both stare down at their hands before he realizes what he's doing is too intimate when they're basically cuddled up on a bed and nearly yanks it back. "Are you feeling any better?"

"My stomach doesn't feel like it's rock climbing up my throat so I'd say that's a drastic improvement."

Stiles smiles sadly. "That's good," he says weakly.

"Yeah, you sound real happy for me," Lydia retorts dryly.

"Can't a guy be worried about one of his best friends? Or, even better, can't a pack member be worried about a packmate?"

She grins slyly and swats his arm. "You just love using those labels whenever you can, don't ya?"

"Maybe it's just nice having a label to call you besides 'friend'." Her eyes darken and he tries to rectify his statement, briefly looking away in his embarassment. "You know what I mean."

Lydia rolls onto her back to face the ceiling. "Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

She simpers. "You're a doof."

His gasp is exaggerated and mockingly aloof. "How  _dare_  you." She's giggling quietly and he turns so he's on his stomach looking down at her to bop her on the bulb of her nose with his index finger. He grins when her face wrinkles as it makes contact.

"When do you think Calvin is gonna make a move?"

Stiles isn't surprised by the randomness of her question. It was a miracle she'd gone a few minutes without thinking about the biggest problem presently in their lives.

"Maybe he hasn't figured it out yet."

"Or maybe he's waiting."

Sighing, Stiles pushes up into a full sitting position a top her bed.  _Back to business, then_. "Waiting for what?"

"I wish I knew..."

"Let's look at what we know. He played hookie today, presumably to murder his brother. Hits a dead end when Forrest takes off and he misses that opportunity. If you were an evil Incubus with shitty taste in wardrobe what would you do next?"

"I would cause chaos. Make a ruckus to shake things up. It's totally his style - and now that he knows everything, now that he knows that  _we_  know everything, he's gotta change the game. The odds are stacked against him, he's weak right now."

"And what does an Incubus do when he's weak? He feeds."

"So now we're just waiting for another body to drop? Possibly even a Banshee prediction?"

"Either that or he'll come straight..." Stiles freezes mid-sentence, realizing it might frighten her to consider the prospect of him trying to feed off her again. " - here," he finishes lamely. "Sorry."

"I don't know, it doesn't feel big enough somehow. He's a narcissist, he wants everyone to see just how clever he is."

"Deaton will get in touch with us tomorrow and... we'll go from there." Stiles scratches his head awkwardly. "I know it's not what you want to hear.. but it's the best chance we've got."

Lydia purposefully knocks the back of her head against the headboard, emphasizing her frustration with a breath of air that delicately lifts the small strands dangling from her hairline. Her head remains forward but her eyes roll in the direction of her friend to secretly glance at him, but he's got his own eyes trained on her. "You didn't have to spend the whole night."

The boy flops a shoulder and traces the pad of his finger over the comforter in the space between them. "Technically the night isn't over yet."

" _Ah,_ " Lydia angles her brow at him with a curious jutting lower lip, a knowing twinkle in her eyes. "Of course." She bumps her fist against his shoulder. "Seriously, though."

" _Seriously,_  I'm not leaving you on your own."

The Banshee scoffs like it's the most ridiculous sentiment. He's being overprotective, it's no real surprise. His attention was something she might usually relish in, but something about having someone she loves worry about her was uncomfortable. He shouldn't have to worry.

"Stiles -,"

"I'm not going anywhere Lydia so you can save your breath." He repositions his pillow so it's not propped up against the headboard, smashing his fist against the center to create an indent sizable enough for his large head in the fluffy cushion.

"It was worth a shot," she mutters to herself.

"Don't forget, tomorrow Scott's dropping you off at Derek's after school."

"What? I didn't know about this.  _Why?_ "

"He wasn't so clear on the details. I know he has to meet up with Deaton and for some reason thinks you shouldn't be there. I told him he was wrong but you know our stubborn little werewolf."

Lydia narrows her eyes in annoyance. "That's ridiculous. I can make my own decisions. This is  _my_  situation, I'm the one who's allowing Scott to be apart of it!" She snaps, her frizzy curls shaking with the jolting of her body. She sits up straighter, becoming more awake with every hammer of her heart. "I cannot believe him. If he thinks I'm just going to sit idly by while he swoops in and saves what he perceives to be his defenseless little pack mule he is so immensely wrong."

"And what are  _you_  gonna do about it?" He doesn't sound mocking but intrigued, curious to know what she might be capable of when put to the test. Vengeful Lydia was a welcome change from the doleful person she'd been these last few weeks.

"I'm gonna do what I do best," she relays, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. When she meets his eyes, they're bright with confidence. "I'm gonna investigate. Go right to the source. I have some more questions for Forrest - I think he's holding back some vital information."

"Well it's about time. Are we skipping third period then?"

Lydia admires his sneaky smile with a glint in her eyes that holds mischief almost identical to the curve of his lips.

He's unprepared when she launches herself forward, planting her lips on the swell of his cheek and grasping his face tightly in her hands.

She pulls back, grinning wickedly. "You're the best, Stiles."

His jaw unclenches as the distance between them is recreated. His heart slows to its original pace and his breathing is more contained as he lovingly admits, "I think you just make me that way."

The blush on her face is unmistakable, even in the dark.

_x-x-x_

Forrest agrees to meet them at a small coffee shop bordering the Eastern side of Beacon Hills. He still hadn't returned home, having ultimately spent the night at a brooding werewolf named Derek's who'd kept both untrusting eyes trained on him for nearly the entire night. He's hungry and tired when he's greeted by Lydia's text in the early morning. He's anxious for an opportunity to slip away from Derek's for a while - even if he knows what he's in for by accepting her request. She's got a dozen more questions, he's sure of it, and when he sees Stiles glued to her side decides they're going to accuse him of something as well.

Stiles' eyes are searching until Forrest awkwardly waves a hand in the air, catching his attention. Immediately, the boys eyes narrow and he regards the older man with suspicion when he approaches. Lydia takes a seat at the table and he pulls up an extra for himself, scraping it along the tile and earning a hard stare from Calvin's brother.

"Isn't this a little public?" Lydia's eyes skitter along the patrons, inconspicious civilians drinking their steaming coffee and clicking along their smart phones, safely ignorant of the supernatural world peeking over their shoulders.

"It's just public enough. Calvin wouldn't be caught dead here and he wouldn't make a scene now. I'm safe here."

"Still scared of your little brother, huh?" Stiles catches himself smirking and doesn't correct it until Lydia whomps an arm into his stomach. " - And rightfully so!" He adds, mostly to avoid any further pain. "He's a real bastard."

"No kidding." Forrest's expression is anything but.

Lydia claps her hands together. "Obviously we called you here for a reason."

"You and your crack team of supernaturals are stumped and need me to help you figure out what to do next." Forrest swirls around the coffee in his cup. "I'm a little disappointed, I didn't think it would be so fast. It's too bad, too. I thought you might actually stop him."

"Stop looking for reasons to doubt me," Lydia's voice is sharp and unforgiving. "I don't need you to tell me what to do. I need to know what Calvin is up to."

Forrest's lip twitches. "I don't know  _exactly_ what's going on in his head anymore, but there is something."

"The faster you talk the faster it's all over."

"Incubi can be very powerful manipulators, but usually don't take their abilities as far as they could. There are guidelines, rules to follow. They're evil but they have a code of honor. They don't take advantage of the natural resource that magic can be. Unlike most Incubi, Calvin searches for this magic. He wants all of it." Unable to maintain eye contact with his brother's latest victim, Forrest looks away. He's too uncomfortable in environments like these. He should have told them to meet him somewhere else. "By killing women Calvin is using the energy from their life to feed directly from the Nemeton's main source of power. Basically, the stronger he gets, the more his abilities grow. This means that Lydia won't be the only persons head he can get into. He can put hallucinations in any woman, and soon, any  _man._ He'll know no boundaries." He shakes his head. "It's unnatural."

"I thought Incubi could only feed on women, and a Succubus on a man."

"That's why he's here. Beacon Hills. When we were moving he told me he just needed a change but I already knew what he was doing. He's got his eyes on a prize, and his idea of winning is getting more than just you, Lydia. He sees himself as the most powerful Incubus in the world, and if he keeps on this path pretty soon he might be. Most Incubi wouldn't have the gall to attempt something like this, to use its connection to the female population to tether itself to a Nemeton."

"What makes him different than the rest of his kind? Why is he taking advantage of what he can do?"

"He's nothing but a product of my poisonous mother."

"How so?"

"You know how humans sometimes have awful parents? And how having those awful parents can lead to a terrible adulthood of their own? It might involve forming unhealthy habits like drug addicton." Forrest frowns at the memories, a preventable childhood he can no longer allow himself to feel sorry for. "In the world of Incubi there are bad parents too - and in that world, humans are the drug addiction. Humans.. and the power to control them in the most intimate ways. They want to control your fear, your love, your pain." The entire mood transitions instantly when he dryly adds, "until they're bored, anyway."

Lydia's silence is unbearable, and Stiles doesn't want to leave her exposed in front of this perfect stranger.

"You couldn't have told us this sooner?" He instead asks, annoyance leaking through his blunt question.

" _I'm sensitive_ ," Forrest hisses back. "It takes me a few dates to really open up, 'ya know?"

"Oh, and he's got jokes now! Where was Mr. Humor before, eh? He's a lot more entertaining than the awkward blunder you've been in any other interaction."

"Shut up, Stiles." If there was one thing that really got on her nerves about her best friend, it was that he never knew when a certain degree of seriousness was needed. If he were ever caught in an uncomfortable situation, the first thing he'd do is crack a joke.

"This has been a really enlightening conversation, but I'm going to take a quick bathroom break." He mouths a brief ' _Update me_ ' to Lydia before he slides into the restroom around the corner, retreating into his own bubble. He needed a moment to gather his thoughts after everything Forrest had just unveiled and Lydia probably knew what he was doing, but he couldn't sit there beside her and act like he wasn't terrified anymore.

"So I was right about the hallucinations," Lydia says huskily. "He's been sending them to me." Her eyes are watering when they meet Forrest's. "I'm not crazy."

Forrest gives her the saddest smile she'd ever seen. "You're not crazy." He swipes his thumb over the coffee stain on the edge of his cup. "The hallucinations and the fear - they make humans taste better. When he drinks in your energy later that night it's ten times as potent."

"Well he's never getting another taste." She exhales and takes this opportunity to ask him something she'd been wondering since the beginning. It had never been the appropriate time, she'd never been alone with him. She leans in closer, lowering her voice. "Can you tell me why Calvin took Allison out of her grave? What did he do to her?"

"It's a sort of spell; a ritual. He could only control your mind enough to prevent you from telling your friends the truth about his abuse if he'd recently fed off the energy of the dead. Allison was enough to sustain the magic for a while, but it's since worn off. His abilities are weakened by his own emotions, his anger and self-consciousness. Thats when he needs to feed on a living woman again... But while he's in his cooldown he's weak - and  _that's_  when he should be killed. Once you figure out how you're going to do that, at least."

Lydia heard everything he said, but hung on one word in particular. "I don't like that word."

"Which word is that? I said a few, I think."

"Abuse." She blinks at him, sucking the corner of her bottom lip into her mouth and biting.

"That's what it is, right? Don't call it anything less than that. He's psychotic."

"It makes me sound weak."

" _He's_  the one abusing you. Shouldn't that make him the weak one?"

Lydia nods, slow and uncertain. "Sure, it should." That fact wouldn't take away the overwhelming sickness curling in her stomach. She wasn't entirely sure if it was because of her newfound illness or not.

"You look better than you did yesterday." Forrest shifts uncomfortably in his stiff chair. "I'm glad you're healing."

"Thank you," she says, and it's warm and genuine. She hopes that when this is all over, Forrest can find a way to make a future for himself (preferably one that doesn't include the word "Incubus").

When Stiles reappears he's been refreshed. Pale skin has been splashed with water and the whites of his eyes are no longer strained and red.

Lydia smiles in a way that tells Stiles that she did in fact know what he was doing. He didn't have to act so stable around her, but actually saying that would do just as much as relaying the message through her eyes.

His eyes flicker away from the intensity of hers and he presses the reset button on this encounter. "What did I miss?"

"Third period. Come on, we've gotta get to school." She all but drags him behind her, shouting her gratitude to the slightly more sane Easley and latching a firm grip on to her friends arm.

_x-x-x_

Malia saw Kira barreling down the hall from a mile away, Scott closing in behind her with his eyes trained straight ahead, wearing his  _"serious alpha"_  face. At first she thought they were headed for her and immediately wondered what she'd done wrong, but then she spotted Stiles and Lydia at the opening of the hall, engrossed in conversation and letting the double doors swing shut behind them.

Malia eavesdrop closely as she shuffles through her locker, no longer focused on the contents within it.

The Kitsune speaks before they even see her coming at them, panic wild in her eyes.

"Attendance says Forrest called Calvin in sick today," Kira announces, fumbling as she tossed the strap of her bag along her shoulder. "Which we all know isn't possible."

"He's absent  _again_?" Stiles and Lydia exchange concerned glances.

Malia pauses at her locker, looking at her pack out of the corner of her eye. She could just join them but she had a stirring feeling that Lydia would be uncomfortable with her presence when discussing Calvin and she didn't want to do that to her. It made her a little sad, that she and Lydia weren't closer. It was partially her fault but mostly Lydia's and making an effort was a two-way street, Malia knew that. But this wasn't the time to cast blame on the Banshee, not when she was going through so much.

"Yes," Kira flexes a strong finger, signaling them to wait "but don't worry because Scott went to Deaton's this morning and we've got good news. Also..." her cheeks redden in anticipation, "I got you kind of a present." She digs into her bag and sheepishly offers a small red bottle, unmistakably pepper spray. "Just so that you can feel a little safer, I know it's stupid.."

Malia chuckles at Kira's awkward but sweet gesture and yanks her English binder out of the locker, knocking down a thin sheet of glossy photo paper she hadn't known was lying underneath it. Sailing to the ground, it landed on top of her sneakers quietly.

Stiles did a double take in the alpha's direction. "I thought you were going after school?"

Scott shakes his head, brow hanging low. "He called me and said it couldn't wait."

She reached down and grabbed it, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. The Werecoyote took one long look at the photograph before she realized what she was staring at and got lost in the image, overtaken by shock and a sudden sickness in the pit of her stomach.

"No, I love it," Lydia accepts the present into the palm of her hand knowing full well that it would do little to defend against an Incubus in a fight, but it was sure to offer some type of emotional comfort.

Stiles snaps his finger in the middle of the group to regain their focus. "Scott, what did you learn?"  
Scott and Kira share a knowing look. "Deaton told us how to kill him."

If that was the news they had to give Lydia then she couldn't understand the lack of a smile on their faces. That made Lydia worry about the method they might have to use. She dragged wary eyes toward Stiles who didn't seem to interpret the same thing as her, his disposition anxious and impatient.

He shakes his hands at them, " _Okay,_  so how?"

Annunciating each word carefully, Scott lowers his voice to a hushed whisper. They had enough problems without having to worry about other people hearing a conversation about murdering one of their classmates. "He needs to be stabbed in the heart by an Athame wrapped in Ague root, which we're working on getting, and that'll keep him paralyzed until we transfer his soul."

Stiles halts Scott's explanation with a waver of his hand, " _Whoa_ , what are you talking about? I thought we were killing the guy, not using magic to play with his insides."

"He's too powerful to just be killed, Deaton was  _very_ clear on that."

"Why take out his soul? What will happen?"

"His body will be nothing but a shell to be buried, but this can only happen if we house his soul in such a way that it can't ever escape... There's only one place Deaton knows for certain can contain his soul."

"Try to keep an open mind," Kira adds on, stressing the importance of this plan of action.

Scott forms the words with his mouth but it takes a special kind of courage to say them while looking his best friend directly in the eye. "...While he's in a state of paralysis, his soul needs to be ritualistically transferred to the Triskelion Box."

The alpha can see the recognition flare up in Stiles' eyes.

"No. No way, absolutely not!" His reaction is more physically telling than anything, his body quivering with energy he can't hold back.

Kira keeps her line of sight on the tile below her feet, uncomfortably biting on her lower lip and allowing Scott to take the reigns. She wasn't suprirsed by their friend's reaction as it could only be expected. The box that would hold Calvin's soul was the same that held the Nogitsune's spirit to this day. There was nothing any of them wanted to do to risk his release and that made the Triskelion box the perfect place for it to spend the rest of eternity. Now they were going to disturb that resting place for one more creature of the night.

Scott instantly switches from alpha to friend, comforting Stiles by tugging him closer and clasping his shoulder - eye contact soft but determined. "I swear to you, we wouldn't do this if it were a risk. Deaton knows what he's talking about and he promises the Nogitsune won't get out. He can't on his own, it isn't possible unless someone were to help him which we definitely will  _not_  be doing."

Lydia looks between the boys, unable to disrupt their moment. She knew what it was like to be the target of something's malicious obsession and Stiles had been there once before. She would give almost anything to get Calvin out of her life but she wouldn't give the Nogitsune Stiles; he can't have him. To deliver freedom right to his prison would be a death sentence for not only him but those around them. The idea that Calvin and the Nogitsune could be sharing a cell together was almost poetic but that didn't make it worth it. Scott might believe in Deaton's knowledge of power and Lydia did too, but there was that tickling whisper in her ear that couldn't help but ask  _"what if?"._

"There's got to be another way," she insists, breaking the silence that overtook them.

Scott and Kira share a second long look and Lydia's growing tired of them. The way she folds her arms over her chest backs up that feeling of annoyance and Scott would be a fool not to recognize it.

"... _There is,"_ the Kitsune confesses. "But it's not as good as the other one."

"We'll do it," Stiles nearly shouts. "Anything."  _Anything but shoving him in with the Nogitsune._

"The only way to stop Calvin from absorbing the Nemeton's power completely is if someone whose energy he's excessively taken from were to absorb that power themselves first - before he gets the chance. That would be you, Lydia."

She can feel their eyes burning holes in to her skin, but she lifts her chin and focuses her attention of Scott.

"Not only would it give you the Nemeton's power, but it would take back the energy he stole from  _you_ and every other girl to begin with. It'll take away so much of the power he'd spent half his life absorbing that the force of losing so much would actually kill him," It all sounds so easy but his distress is blatantly visible when he nervously rubs his lips together in a repeating motion, using the pause in his statement as a second to collect himself and honestly tell her what might happen if things don't go the way they hope. "The only thing is... the shock of taking in all that power might be too much for your heart to physically handle." His eyes darken as he more bluntly says, "It could kill you, Lydia."

"That's ridiculous," Stiles barks instantly. "Of course we're not going to do that, why would you even put that idea in her head?"

"I'm not a child, Stiles. I can make my own decisions."

" _What?_ " His worry has been displaced by his anger; rage at her for not protecting herself above all. Her number one priority should be saving herself and it isn't, and that continuously pisses him off at random intervals throughout the week. He rhythmically smacks the back of his hand against the center of his palm as if that will give her the proper grasp on the seriousness of this situation. "Lydia, he just said you could die!"

"I know," Lydia snarls. "I just think we should have all our options on the table. We can't discount anything."

Stiles nearly gives himself whiplash with how fast he pulls back to turn and get a look at Scott and Kira's reactions. He wants to be sure he isn't the only one caught in a realm of disbelief, that Lydia could _actually_  be saying the things she's saying. "We can discount  _this_!" He scoffs, exaggeratedly waving his arms and mocking the very idea of her doing something so dangerous.

"You're right," she says quietly, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear. "I don't know what I was thinking."

Scott studies her carefully, narrowing his eyes at the redhead before him. She was clearly still considering it, but he understood that she wouldn't want to admit it in front of Stiles, someone who wasn't ever going to let it happen if he had any say in the matter. Still, it was something the alpha would be speaking with her about in private later. He couldn't allow her to sneak off and try her own way, he needed to be involved in every step whether he was required to keep a thing or two from Stiles along the way. There was one thing he agreed with his friend on, and it was that Lydia's safety was top priority. They weren't going to get rid of Calvin unless it meant they'd still have Lydia at the end of the day.

Stiles is caught off guard by Malia, who's leaned against her locker completely distracted by whatever she holds in her trembling hands. She's probably been standing there a while, he hadn't even seen her walk past.

"Uh, I'll talk to you guys later," Stiles mutters, giving his alpha a quick pat on the back and making a beeline for his troubled looking girlfriend.

"Hey," Scott gently touches Lydia's elbow. "How are you feeling, by the way?"

She looks away from Stiles and smiles wholeheartedly at her remaining friends. "I honestly feel a lot better. I think we might be in the clear."

"Which plan do you like better?" Kira blurts out, curiosity getting the best of her. She could tell that Lydia didn't want to talk about it right now but it wasn't something that could wait much longer. "Y'know, in regards to destroying your boyfriend," she clarifies.

"He's not my boyfriend," the Banshee says quickly.

"Right, of course not," Kira nearly smacks herself in the face for being so stupid as to refer to Lydia's current nightmare as a term of endearment reserved for men that actually treated her right. "I just meant, you've got two choices here. We can capture him or kill him. But when you weigh the pro's and cons... Wouldn't it be better if he were just dead? If he paid for those crimes with the ultimate justice?" she blushes inadvertently, " - that would be his life, by the way."

Avoiding any and all contact, Lydia repositions the strap of her hefty purse. "Can we talk about this later? I have a test I never actually studied for. I should review my notes before class."

The Kitsune fumbles through her response, but thankfully the conversation is over within a few moments. Lydia disappears around the corner and Scott immediately turns to her.  
"What was that about?"

"I don't know," she groans. "It's like every time I try to help...  _word vomit_."

Her boyfriend smiles softly and wraps an arm around her. "Come on vomit girl, I'll buy you a coffee to clean that up."

"I might need more than a coffee," she mumbles self-deprecatingly, "like maybe a few classes in social etiquette."

_x-x-x_

"Are you okay?"

Malia nearly jumps a foot in the air when she shuts her locker and sees her boyfriend's big head. Even her keen Werecoyote senses couldn't pick up on his arrival. She was too distracted and it was going to stay that way until she told him what was going on.

He could see her considering something, a worried cloudiness in her eyes.

"Malia, what's going on?"

Something inside her snaps the second his hands press into her arms, concern puckering his lips into a pouty frown. She shoves him back with force, throwing up the hand that was limply holding onto the photograph she discovered in her locker.

" _What is this!?_ " She shoves it in his face and he takes it into his own two hands to see for himself, but not before shooting her an annoyed stare.

He lifts it to his line of view, squinting closely at the blurred picture that she so angrily offered him. The coloring held a strong blue hue, and the pixelation made it difficult to decipher what he was looking at when he wasn't sure what he was looking  _for._ There were stripes over the image blocking what it was actually a picture of, like someone had taken the photo through the shuttered doors of a closet.

But then he spotted familiar red ringlets spilling over a pillow and a pale complexion. It was  _Lydia_ , lying on her bed with someone propped up close beside her, bopping her on the nose in a humorous gesture. It took all of three seconds before he realized it was him.

Horror prickled over his skin, goosebumping the hairs scattered along his arms and rising on the back of his neck.

"Where did you get this?" He asks emptily, cold and hollow despite the waver in his voice. His eyes don't leave the photograph.

"I found it in my locker.  _Someone_  left it there."

When his eyes meet hers, he can see that she's already aware that this was Calvin's doing.

Stiles looks back at the picture and his fingers tighten around the edges, the squeaking of his skin pressing into the glossy photo paper the only sound while he inwardly panics. He's breaking into a sweat, he can feel it heating under his arms, pooling at his hairline. Calvin had been in Lydia's closet all night. They had been ignorantly sleeping there a few feet away for  _hours_  and Calvin had been watching. He didn't even try to hurt them - he didn't do anything but take a picture.

His hand flies to his mouth and he thinks he's going to be sick. They aren't safe, they never have been. Calvin still has all of the control. This has all been carefully calculated by a master stalker and Stiles should've known to expect the unexpected but somehow remained in complete shock over what he'd managed to do this time. This had gone beyond anything he'd been prepared for, anything he'd seen beforehand. He wasn't just inside of Lydia's house, he wasn't just in her  _room_ , he was in her closet. He was there while they were keeping up with the lie that they might actually be okay.

Malia purses her lips. "See, I would accuse you a lot of awful things right now if there weren't more important stuff going on."

He's beyond hearing her or the snide remarks he's sure she's making.

"I-I have to go," he stumbles away, the photograph in his unmoving grip and his heart thrashing painfully against his chest cavity as if it were trying to escape. His head is foggy but he manages to find a secluded area outside and blindly presses through his phone's contact list until he finds Forrest's number, something he'd saved "just in case".

There's a long pause after the receiver picks up, like Forrest is afraid to greet whoever might me on the other end.

Stiles is sure he's worried his brother might be making contact but it's only a passing thought.

" _Forrest_ ," he gruffly demands a response.

"Stiles?" There's another pause while Forrest gathers himself. "What happened?"

"Calvin... he - he..." his nails dig into the picture burning against his leg, creating indents the size of his fingertips. "He was watching Lydia and I all night and I had no idea, he took a picture and left it in Malia's locker... Why would he do that? Why?"

" _God_ ," Forrest shakes his head to himself. It was so typical of Calvin, it was the same bullshit in every town. "He's playing with you."

"This isn't a game of fucking cat and mouse!" Saliva flies furiously from his lips, his teeth grinding unconsciously. "He has no reason to do this to us, we're beyond this point now! Why doesn't he just try to _kill_  us?"

Forrest almost laughs at the innocence of a human. He could never know what it's like to lack the knowledge of an Incubi's predator-prey tactics. He knew exactly what Calvin was doing.

"You don't get it," he tells him, plain and firm. "An Incubus is a professional abuser, an expert stalker. He can see anything you do without you ever knowing he was there. He's so good at it that it's no longer fun just watching you. He wants you to know."

Stiles clenches the phone in his hand, overwhelming panic seeping under his skin. If Calvin had been watching them, he could be there at any moment. He could be there now.

He whipped around, eyes wildly scanning the outdoors for something out of the ordinary. Only, he wouldn't see Calvin unless that were what the Incubus wanted. There was nothing more daunting than accepting that there was nothing they could do until they had the Athame. Even then, they hadn't formed a plan to lure him out and actually stick it in his chest. Stiles knew that no matter what official plan they came up with, he might not necessarily follow along. If there came such an opportunity that he could kill the fucker himself without having to involve Lydia, he'd do it in a heartbeat, even if she spent the rest of her life angry with him. The chances of that happening were slim and the Banshee was going to do everything in her power to make sure she was the one who got to do it, that Stiles was sure of. Still, the danger of the situation was not lost on him, enchanted dagger or no enchanted dagger. That was exactly why there was a scenario playing in his head where he'd snatch the Athame out of Lydia's hands and save the day - although he was partial to seeing Lydia serve that particular plate of justice herself. The part that came after, transferring Calvin into the Triskelion box, that was something he would have to think about when the time came. He had too much to worry about without thinking about the demon that nearly ruined his entire life and took Allison's away from her.

"Stiles, are you still with me?" Forrest asked hesitantly. They didn't know each other on a personal level, not in the slightest. He was in no position to attempt to comfort the teenager and he hadn't even tried it on another person before.

" _Yeah_ ," he breathes harshly, in this moment thinking of Lydia and whether or not he was going to show her the picture. "I just don't know what to do anymore." He's desperate for a clue, even from the older brother of their friendly neighborhood stalker. "How can I help her?" Stiles runs a hand roughly over his face, scratching his nails sharply over his cheek and letting the painful pressure linger.

"Uh," Forrest swallows hard and tries to say the right thing. "Just be there. And be prepared for the worst."

Stiles blinks automatically, his heaving chest freezing in the middle of a breath. "Do you actually  _think_  you're being helpful? 'Prepare for the  _worst_ '!?" He scoffs his disdain, shock threading through his angry tone, "I think you might have actually made me feel shittier. Congratulations."

"I'm sorry, I wish there was more I could say."

Practically able to hear the man cringing, Stiles releases him from the uncomfortable call. "Its fine," he grumbles almost inaudibly. "I have something I need to take care of. Keep your phone by you, I might need your so-wonderful  _help_ again later."

"Okay but -"

Stiles is in a frenzy as he abruptly ends the call, loosely shoving his phone into the deepest pocket of his jeans and regaining focus to what's happening right in front of him and what exactly he's going to do about it next. Forrest proved once again that he was putting little to no effort in stopping his brother in a way that didn't involve something simple like telling stories about his childhood or staying out of the way. That was all the guy wanted to do - disappear until the problem was gone; the problem in this case being a particularly obsessive creature named Calvin that was already compulsive by nature.

His latest "game" told Stiles one thing, and it was that they were already running out of time. Not only was Calvin succeeding in using as many girls bodies as possible to absorb the Nemeton but he was confident enough to taunt them about it. Not just anyone, but Malia. Why Malia, though? It wasn't like Calvin could gain her as an ally through jealousy, she wasn't dumb enough to fall for that. Not unless this wasn't the first little message he'd left in her locker.

If Calvin was bothering Malia for some reason, Stiles was going to lose his mind. It's not like he isn't already on the verge, but if Calvin thinks he can wiggle into their lives and spread his infection like the disease he is not only to Lydia but the  _rest_  of the pack too... death wouldn't be enough of a punishment.

Stiles' feet were moving back toward the school before he finished his thought.

_x-x-x_

He's waiting for her outside her class, she can smell him. She wasn't especially gifted when it came to pin-pointing scents, but Stiles had a unique one that stood out amongst her classmates and the people walking around in the hall. It might just be because of how well she knows his body and all the flavors that would exuberate from him when she was close enough to reach out and lick him - and sometimes she  _did_  - but Malia believed it was because he really was different. His cologne was different, even his natural musk. He was  _Stiles_.

And that was why Malia was glad to call him her boyfriend. Even if he was hung up on a self-destructive Banshee who sha'll not be named.

Usually Malia would be so happy to smell him right outside the door, waiting for the bell to ring. She'd stare at the clock and kick her foot against the desk-leg with every tick because she's anxious for the moment she gets to pounce on him in a place that's probably too public. Today, Malia knew he was going to say  _something_  about that stupid photograph she wished she could forget existed. Yesterday was a day that she had a loving boyfriend, and today he might be the boyfriend that cheated on her. Maybe she should give him a chance to explain himself, maybe this was just what Calvin wanted her to think.

So when the bell rang and she reuctantly swung around the doorframe, she crossed her arms at him and outright demanded he, " _Speak_."

Taken aback, Stiles blanches and fumbles over his words. "You want me to..?" He bites his tongue. "Oh, right." He holds up the picture between them, discretely showing it to her.

"I've already seen it," she bites, refusing to look at it again.

"Right - but I'm not sure you know what you're looking at." He holds it up again and waits for her gaze to drag over to the image. His tongue flicks out to wet his dry lips and he points out with a strong finger, "See, this is me."

" _I know,_  Stiles." She shifts her weight to the opposite foot and uncomfortably strains, "Do you really think I want details?"

"It's  _me,_ Malia," he stresses the words, but she's still struggling to understand. " - Mecomforting one of my best friends and making sure she's safe. Me making her laugh so she can forget about the hell that's all around her for two seconds. It's me laying beside her and doing  _nothing_  else... I want that to be clear, okay?"

She crosses her arms tightly across her chest. "If you really think I'm gonna believe you..."

"The very fact that Calvin would put this picture in  _your_  locker shows his intentions - and that's disregarding the fact that he stood in Lydia's closet for nine hours and watched us," he shivers at the mental image that keeps popping into his mind. "Don't you see that? He's trying to turn you against us!"

The Werecoyote huffs and speaks low. "Yeah, well maybe it's working."

Disbelief crosses his coffee stained eyes. " _Malia_.. You can't be serious.."

She chews unwavering on her lower lip for a solid second before she drops the facade, her arms flopping to her sides. "What if I was, Stiles? What if I actually had it in me to walk away from you for real? It's something I don't want to do, but I  _swear_  I would do it if you wanted me to."

"Then I'd go after you," his answer is fluid, his fingers hesitantly holding onto hers. "I know that our relationship is new and there's a lot we have to learn about each other, but you're important to me. To all of us."

"Yeah...but.."

"But what, Malia?" His voice is gentle, wanting to quell her fears.

" _But the fact that you had to add 'to all of us' is telling."_ She doesn't say it because she's gotten familiar enough with the human world to know that some things are more important and take precedent over others. Right now, there's a psychopath that likes to take pictures of Lydia sleeping. That has to be one of those 'important things' she's learned so much about, and she can't disrupt actual pack issues with her own romantic ones, at least not right now.

"Nothing," she brushes the trace of wetness away from the hood of her eye. "I'm just worried I guess. About Calvin, about all of it."

"I know, baby, I know." His thumb traces a circle over her jaw as he whispers to her. When they gain a few awkward glances, Stiles eventually withdraws and creates distance between them. "Let me know if Calvin tries to contact you in any other way. You will right?"

Malia puts on a brave face, smoothing a hand over the back of her head. "You know I tell you everything," she says through the tears she's fighting back. It's a war that she's winning, but Stiles recognizes the pain on her face.

"We'll talk again later, I promise." He mouths one last  _'I promise'_  as he's backing away before he turns on his heel. He's got to find Lydia.

_x-x-x_

When Scott spotted Lydia on the way to lunch, he was tempted to sneak up behind her. A couple of months ago she would've screamed and swatted him and it would be the funniest thing but now he was worried she would faint or have some kind of reaction to what had been making her so ill lately.

"Lydia Martin," he swings around her to stop her from walking. "I have a surprise for you. I just got it."

" _Tell me_ it's Incubi Repellent."

"Even better." He gestures for her to look into his backpack which is readily unzipped for her viewing pleasure.

She lifts a suspicious eyebrow at him.

"Nothing's gonna jump out at me right?"

"I'm hoping it has the opposite effect. On Calvin, anyway."

She leans in to get a good look and Scott lifts it up, eyes skittering around in case someone is watching them. This was probably what a drug deal looked like, only Scott felt like he was being  _more_ sketchy.

Cylinder shaped... a triskele molded into the top.

_"Holy shit!"_

The alpha immediately hushes her.

"Why the hell do you have the Triskelion box? Why is it  _here_  - in school. Why is it not buried under the Nemeton?"

Scott looks at her like it should be obvious. "I told you, we need it to capture Calvin."

"What if it jostles and the cap comes undone and then 'poof'! Nogitsune's back in town."

"That's not going to happen," Scott scowls. "It's safe with me."

The Banshee's eyes flutter and she curls a lip at him. "Well you can put that right back where it belongs."

His hands tighten around his backpack protectively. "Why would I do that?"

Nervously biting on her lower lip, she avoids eye contact entirely. "...You can't tell Stiles."

" _Lydia_."

She runs a hand through her hair, taking a few slack steps away from him. "Because we're not going to capture him. We're going to crush his existence." She looks back toward him, her eyes darker than the last time he saw them. "I want him dead, Scott."

"I saw you hesitate," he says without thinking, then realizing it doesn't make much sense to her. "Earlier, when I told you and Stiles our choices. When I said you could take the magic from the Nemeton the first thing Stiles did was shut it down but I could tell you didn't want to."  
"We can't stick him in a box, it can't ever be that easy."

"Fine but you're gonna have to understand that I can't just let you do this, either. Not if it means we could lose you too."

"He won't be able to hurt anyone else. Not ever." She touches his hands where they grasp his backpack so tightly that his knuckles have turned white. "We have to be willing to make sacrifices for that, Scott. I'm willing to do it."

The look he's giving her is pained and unforgiving.

"I just need you to give me instructions for the ritual."

"No, Lydia." He doesn't recognize that look in her eye, the one that screams anguish because she's carrying a load too heavy and she's begging him to take some of that weight. As a leader, as her alpha, Scott has to take that responsibility. He has to make the hard choices and he can't say no to one of his best friends, not when she's standing right in front of him exposing her truth and trusting him to make the right call.

He fights the urge to pull at his hair in frustration, ultimately giving in.

"I can't Lydia - not unless you promise me that it'll only be a last resort. You have to promise that you'll only do it if there's no other choice."

"...Scott..."

"Lydia." He places his free hand on top of the one she's using to clutch his. "If you think I'm ever gonna let you die without a fight you have officially lost your mind. You only get the spell if you promise."

She looks between his eyes and finds the same amount of sincerity in each worry-splintered orb of darkness. She trusts him with her life and so much more.

"I promise."

He slips her a small piece of paper and squeezes her hand.

"I knew you'd pick the self-sacrificing one."

"This is everything?" Lydia reads over the Latin chant.

"You need to be at the Nemeton to do it."

"So far so questionable," she comments with a smirk.

"Don't understimate magic Lydia, you should drill that into your head. We've done it way too many times before."

"What magic?" Stiles' arrival cast a disruptive shadow over their delicate conversation.

Lydia's heart lept into her throat; a sudden knot suppressing any comfortable lie that would normally burble out of her lips next. Instead her mouth is dry and her tongue is swollen; heavy like she can't think of anything. It's the irony of the situation that almost makes her want to cackle out loud, being such a good liar and being unable to think of anything the moment she's confronted with one of the most important ones she'd ever tell. If Stiles were to find out what she was willing to put on the line he'd never dream of letting her get away with it.

Even through whatever spell Calvin had cast to prevent Scott's werewolf senses from detecting Lydia's perpetual lying, Scott could tell Lydia wanted his help unwinding the threaded suspicion from a tapered spindle turning uinterrupted on its axis, suspicion caused by her wavering silence.

"We were talking about the ritual to trap Calvin," Scott pivots between them, focusing calmly on the human. "It's gonna take a lot out of us."

"Maybe, but not as much as that other ritual would take out of Lydia."

Lydia involuntarily grimaces when he looks at her.

"It's better this way," Stiles concludes, glossy-eyed and standing tall, his mouth set in a grim line of unshaken certainty.

"I agree."

When Scott says it, Lydia can't turn her gaze to him. There was something about the distinct, firm way he said it that made her uncomfortable. The fact that she could feel his eyes burning where they focus on her face told her all she needed to know. So Scott agreed with Stiles, it wasn't that surprising. As long as he could keep a secret from him, that was all that mattered. It wasn't as if she was going to throw herself at death like it had been her goal all along, it was just a very important back-up plan that had to be in check. It was a back-up plan that Stiles would never agree with the existence of in the first place.

Her thoughts are hazily disrupted by a headrush that she hadn't been prepared for, one so powerful it nearly knocked her off her feet. She feels Scott reach out as if to steady her, but he pulls his hand back when her eyes cloudily meet his.

"What just happened?"

"I - I don't know."

Lydia flinches as Stiles unexpectedly presses a cold palm to her forehead, much like Deaton had the other night. The look on his face is different than the one the druid-vet had worn, pallid and haunted where Deaton's had been thoughtful and curious.

"I feel weak suddenly," she confessed lowly.

There was no word to describe the feeling she was currently experiencing other than  _"weird"_. It was as if she'd accidentally turned the dial to 'sleep mode', everything becoming less dimensional and more like a single-layered dream.

The bright flourescents become too much and Lydia actually has to shut her eyes and look away.

"Maybe you should get out of here," Scott glances up at the lights and in the direction of his friend. They wear matching expressions plastered with uneasiness.

"I thought I was getting better. I  _was_ ," she says it like it will make a difference simply because that's how it should be. For once in her life, she'd accepted that particular headache as one that was never going to return. It was her fault for thinking anything could go right, that a headache didn't always have to turn into a migraine.

"I can take you to Derek's sooner?"

Lydia is about to relent, but Stiles jumps in within the beat of a heart.

"I've got her."

The alpha pauses, alarmed. Stiles was only human and he couldn't offer any protection, it was baffling that he would recommend the best place for Lydia to be lie with him. At the same time, Scott could understand Stiles' hesitation to let her out of his sight.

"Are you sure? If Calvin shows up it might be too much for you to handle."  _It will_ , he purposefully leaves out.

Stiles shifts his lips, "I mean.. It's up to Lydia, but I don't think we should expect anything right now." Nothing but stalking and photograph-taking, anyway.

"No offense Stiles, but at this point it's a little naive to think that nothing would happen." At Stiles' shock, he specifies with a sigh. "Look, the best place for Lydia to be is with me or Derek right now. We're the only ones strong enough."

"All of Calvin's attacks have been psychological," Lydia interrupts, leaning her side into the wall for balance. "Well, the magically-related ones, anyway. Every other time he hurt me it was by inflicting pain in the same way that a human being can."

"I can't stop you." The alpha masks his concern with a shake of his shoulders, scratching at his hairline for the sake of doing something. "Keep your phones with you no matter what."

He begs them to be careful, to watch their backs and to stay indoors tonight.

Stiles knew all the information Scott was telling him was completely useless. He was already going to be especially paranoid after receiving the picture that was currently tucked away in his backpack (like it was homework or scrap paper he'd shoved in at the last minute - It didn't fit in with the rest of his stuff). He also knew that it made Scott better to say these things and to know that his friends were listening. Now he'd be able to get through the rest of his day believing they were as cautious as they possibly could be.

"We can't go to my place when I'm like this," Lydia groans when she's safely positioned on the passenger side of Stiles' car, fighting the urge to empty the contents of her stomach. She has to roll down the window just in case, but the breeze does wonders for her nausea. "My mom will freak."

"We're going to my place." His hand tightens along the wheel.

It had been his plan all along. There was no way he would be taking her back to her house when Calvin was propped up in her closet watching them all night. He couldn't sit in her room in front of  _that_  spot while the Incubus was still breathing, even with the door wide open. He still had to tell Lydia about the picture, show it to her. He'd imagined every possible reaction she could have and still none of them seemed appropriate given the situation.

"Good thinking."

Stealing a quick glance at her, Stiles frowns at her faith in his decision making skills.  _She_ thought he was good at thinking.

_He_ sure hoped she was right.

_x-x-x_

Stiles set her up in his bed hurriedly, fluffing pillows and rushing off to grab more blankets from the hall closet. He can't even see her while he moves in a blur, situating everything in a way that said he wasn't so much trying to make it aesthetically pleasing as he was trying to make her comfortable, surrounded by fuzzy cushions and warm comforters. He even grabs the electric blanket, bending over to plug it into the outlet and nearly jumping out of his skin when an unexpectedly clammy hand warps around his big wrist. When he pulls back Lydia has this amused little smile, kneeling beside him on the carpet.

He returns the gesture for a moment before he takes in the scene.

"What are you doing out of bed?" He argues, rising to his feet and pulling her with him.

"It's kind of hard to sleep in a bed I don't fit in."

"What are you talking about it's..." his hand freezes where it outstretches in the direction of the bed. He's overwhelmed by the sight of pillows and blankets stockpiled on top of it. "Oh. So maybe I went a little crazy with the details. I just wanted you to be comfortable."

He shoves the top layer of stuff to the floor, sitting on the edge as she climbs under the covers. She collapses into the center of the bed, tired moans airily leaving her lips.

"It's not about that, admit it. It's about the immense amount of guilt you have because you think this is all your fault for what ever ridiculous reason."

"I know it's not my fault," he says softly, pulling at the loose strings coming out of his comforter. "But that doesn't mean it had to get to this point. I should've gotten involved sooner, I should've seen the signs. I knew you were going through something worse than before, I knew it was getting harder for you and I didn't do anything."

"You thought I was just mourning Allison and I was."

"But it was so much more than that, Lydia. Even before Calvin when I was acting like a tool, I would barely talk to you or Scott."

"That was your own grief." Her hand easily finds his. "You can't blame yourself for something we were all experiencing. We just handled it in different ways."

"Scott needed me and I wasn't there," razors cut through his voice unevenly. "You needed me."

Ocean waves of emotion spread over Stiles' face, turning like the washing tide on a stormy night. Lydia watches with curiosity, realizing she wouldn't get through to him like this.

"Okay," she whispers gently, inhaling sharply for everything that was about to come next. "I'm gonna say this once."

His eyes are searching as they meet hers for the sake of trying to read her, to understand what she might say next without having to hear the words. But her expression is impassive and tight, so he patiently waits and pays mindnumbingly close attention to the feel of her fingers swiping over his.

"I love you, Stiles."

His heart drives powerfully into his ribcage continuously and he almost thinks it might burst right out of his chest. He's overcome by warmth and it's surrounding him, ceasing his pulsating heart, overbearing as it loudly pumps in his eardrums. He decides to take a step back and listen to everything else she has to tell him out of the fear that she meant "as friends", or that it might be followed up by a statement that started with  _"but..."_

"You are the loyal one in our pack, you always have been. You will never stop coming through, never stop risking your life to save the people you love and not just them but complete strangers. You're not a traditional hero in any sense of the word - you're stubborn, controlling and sometimes an insensitive imbecile but you're a  _hero_ , even without the superpowers and chiseled jaw... You're just as dumb and frustrating as you are smart and validating, and you don't have to save my  _life_  to save me _,_  Stiles. You do it everyday. You do it by whisking me away on a boat trip to a rocky cavern, telling off my psycho ex-Incubus even though he could kill you by blinking and you do it by covering me in thick-ass blankets just because you  _care_ and for that I love you, Stiles."

His adam's apple bobs in his throat as he chokes back the saliva he'd forgotten to swallow throughout her speech. His eyes are watering but don't shed yet he can't blink them away no matter how hard he squeezes them shut.

Lydia runs her tongue over her lips, widened red eyes focused on a vein in his neck to avoid the look in his eyes. She doesn't know what she'd find there, but she's sure she doesn't want to see it.

"I know you can't say it back. I know you're with Malia," she relays huskily. "I just thought you should know."

She tries to pull her hand back but his snatches hers instead, threading their fingers together.

" _Thank you_ ," he expressed heartily, tugging their intwined hands up to his lips to place a chaste kiss on hers.

Lydia wasn't sure if he was showing gratitude for telling him how amazing she thought he was, for dropping the three-syllable bomb, or for not expecting him to say it back. It probably didn't matter anyway, not when she finally did something right.

The silence wears on for a moment as Stiles sniffles quietly.

"You said it twice, by the way," he croaks, then coughing just to clear his brittle voice.

"What?"

"You specifically told me you were only going to say it once, but you told me you loved me twice. I just thought that was interesting."

"Yeah, well I've been waiting a while to get the chance." She bites her tongue.  _It's like word vomit._

His curved lips freeze and instantly return to neutral.

"Do you want some soup?" He breaks out of his trance with. "I can make soup."

Lydia edges her teeth along her lip haphazardly and carefully asks, "Chicken noodle?"

His face brightens. "You know it!" He presses a sturdy finger to his lips and then points it thoughtfully in her direction. " _Hey_ , I'm not gonna come back to you vomitting blood on my bed right? I just got this comforter." He jokingly lightens the mood, washing away any remnants of tension he might've been stringing along the carpeted room.

"No, but I may be taking a nap and snoring rather obnoxiously." In a dose of perfect timing, she lets out a perfectly dramatic yawn. She pouts her lips at him, "You'll just have to blame it all on my illness."

Her almond eyes lack the expressiveness they usually hold, the most telling sign to just how exhausted she was. If Stiles could let her sleep uninterrupted for the next 72 hours she'd probably rouse starry eyed and rumpled-headed, filled with awareness and likely to recover at the speed of light.

He could use a good night's sleep himself, something he realized as he dragged himself along the tile through a thick haze, intending to make the Banshee tucked in upstairs a bowl of hot soup. He was weary-eyed, vision blurring and blackening as he begins to fall asleep where he leans against the counter, hot smoke filtering up from the pot and heating his skin.

A bang reverberates through the second floor, an echo that resounds from his bedroom.

He doesn't even bother to switch off the stovetop's flame before he takes off, sprinting up the steps two at a time. It's only when the perspiration reaches his brow that he recognizes he's sweating frantically. He's sensible enough to know the thump may have been nothing. Maybe Lydia jumped off the bed and the force of her feet landing on the -  _no,_ that would be a cruel jokeand it didn't hold much logic.

The doorknob is cold against his slippery hand and he squeezes a little bit tighter in anticipation. When he fumbles through the doorway, he stops cold in front of its entrance.

The window was pried halfway open, a wintry draft rushing through and the swirling wind creating an ominous whistle.

His forearms goosebump when he makes eye contact with the creature sitting on the edge of the bed.

Calvin looked more inhuman every time he saw him.

His temperament is easy and patient, like they were just a couple of friends hanging out in his room.

Stiles' gaze flickers toward the girl sleeping peacefully beside Calvin.

" _Shh,_ " Calvin's voice sounds almost disembodied because of the ghostly way he hisses the word. A pale finger flattens against his mouth. "She's sleeping."

Stiles takes note of the sketchpad mounted in Calvin's lap, a pencil grasped delicately in his free hand. He's sketching Lydia and it's surprisingly life-like, the only difference being that her reflected image made her look dead instead of just unconscious. He wondered if it was on purpose, or if Calvin was just incapable of embracing humanity in its full living, breathing capacity.

His fingers itch for his cell phone, one he knew that was just out of reach on the end table. It was too close to the Incubus for him to risk rushing forward.

"What are you doing here?" He wheezes, hands closing into fists

This is something he should've expected - should've been prepared for. He'd been so careful today. His phone had never been more than an inch away and his thumb was almost constantly hovering over Scott's number, he even took a different path home.

Calvin curls his hand into red ringlets and tightens his grip like he might yank her toward him. He smirks when Stiles takes a warning step forward.

"I wanted to draw my valentine. She's so beautiful, I just wanted a sketch of her that I didn't have to use a photograph for. It's so much simpler to trace the contoured lines of her face when they're right in front of me. She's really quite special."

Stiles watches every phase of Calvin's destructive personality cross his face, his very own lunar cycle. He could see his sociopathy through a magnifying glass now. Every emotion that Calvin had was self-involved. When he felt sadness it was for himself, when it was anger it was for the way someone else wronged  _him_. He was the center of the universe and his narcissism made him the center of the supernatural realm as well, his urgency to be the most powerful of his race - to separate him from the rest. For a moment, Stiles is glad that Lydia is in a deep sleep. He isn't sure how she'd react if she woke up to this.

"I know, I saw your little gift in Malia's locker."

"Yeah, that's one of my favorite pieces. Has she broken up with you?" His look is off-putting. "That's too bad."

A flash of silver catches Stiles off guard, reflecting in Calvin's blackened eyes. He unsheaths it from his pocket when he follows Stiles' line of sight.

"You like my knife?" He slides its serrated tip along the dark denim off his legs and drags it in a steady line over his knee, following a path over the sheet of the bed and heading towards Lydia teasingly. He watches Stiles' face and bites down on his lip suggestively.

"Why can't you just leave her alone?" He demands outright, unwilling to play anymore of Calvin's silly games.

With a flick of Calvin's wrist the blade is making an indent in the skin of Lydia's throat.

"I suppose I  _could_  just..." He puts just a little bit of pressure, enough to draw the tiniest drop of blood. "End it.."

"Stop it," Stiles loses that last thread of control on his emotions. "I know you won't kill her before performing the ritual so stop playing games with me. Life isn't a game."

"But it is for  _you_ , Stiles." Calvin stares at the leaking blood, his mouth wrinkling angrily. "All the fucking jokes you tell. You're really just a teenage prick and no one can see it but me."

"I hate to echo a common saying but  _it takes one to know one_ , Calvin. You think you're so different and powerful but you're just obsessed with yourself." He swallows once, using the rhythm of his heart to find one in their conversation, to not allow Calvin to play off his fear and instead sound secure and unwavering. He has to know what he's talking about.

"Maybe I am, but that doesn't mean I'm not..." a sly smile takes over his whole face like that of the Chesire cat. "... _different_."

He finally removes the knife from the Banshee's neck, instead fiddling with it in his lap. He rests one foot against his knee.

"I'm the only Incubus who used the magic he already had to harness more." He pointedly tips the knife in the human's direction. "That, makes me smart."

When Stiles again says nothing, Calvin cocks his head tauntingly. "Got nothing to say, Stiles? This is the part where you make a sarcastic remark to avoid showing the fear that's eating you alive. And as much as I'd love to sit here and deal with all of that... I'd really better go. I'll be taking this one with me." The way he admires Lydia isn't at all endearing. It's almost animalistic by nature, possessive. His tongue flicks out to his lips just then, a coiled snake with bad intentions.

"You're not taking 'this one'  _anywhere_."

His head shoots up. "I'm not leaving without her. There's nothing you can do about it." He holds up the sharp-edged knife, the implication not lost on Stiles.

That however does not make a difference.

Calvin leans over Lydia and Stiles thinks on his feet, eyes searching for a household object that could also serve as a makeshift weapon. He glows when he sees it, lunging forward and ripping the lamp from its outlet. He smashes it over Calvin's head and reaches for the girl currently stirring awake. He spares a quick glance toward the spot he last saw Calvin but the Incubus has vanished, hopefully long gone.

Lydia groggily sits up and tries to ask what's going on but Stiles wastes no time, sloppily lifting her into his arms and barely sparing enough time to swipe his cell from the table, rushing out of the bedroom with a sudden ferocity. He trips over the carpeted hall on several occasions, his movements sporadic and instinctive, hand over head.

He only drops her to her feet when they reach the driveway, collectively stumbling toward his jeep. Her heels are clunking behind him and he almost wishes he'd never let her go in the first place. He wouldn't have if she weren't wiggling so much.

Both car doors slam shut in unison, the mask of silence an odd contrast to the chaos that was 60 seconds ago.

Scraggly hair falls in front of Lydia's face as she breathes unevenly. "You gonna tell me what the hell just happened?"

He tosses his phone in her lap and starts up the car, tearing out of the lot so fast Lydia's knocked back against her seat.

"Text Scott 911."

"Is there an emergency?" She pulls up their last few text messages and types in the numbers, clicking 'send' despite her confusion. She was abruptly pulled from her slumber and tugged out of bed by Stiles, nevermind the broken lamp on the floor. Either he lost his marbles or she missed something.

"How did we lose him?" Stiles edges his teeth over the corner of his lip, foreboding shivers tingling over his arms and stiffening his body. All of his senses are honed in around them, searching specifically for Calvin's bushy head of hair, waiting for him to pop out of a bush or come up behind them in the rearview mirror.

He mumbles darkly to himself, " _There's no way we could've lost him_."

"Lost who, Calvin!?" Lydia shouts, pleading Stiles for an answer. He won't even grace her with an answer and it's making her more afraid because she doesn't know what could have happened to make him so restless.

He can barely see through the thick of the night so he flips on the high beams.

A deer is standing in the middle of the road, staring right at them - unmoving.

He swerves the car instinctively, believing it will be too late. His turn was too narrow, he was going to hit the animal.

"Stiles,  _stop!_ " is the last thing he hears before the crush of metal.

Instead of smacking straight into the animal and killing it the jeep flies right through it as easily as it rushes through wind.

The tires spin out and a sickening squeak of tire on pavement resounds before does several flips, stopping upside down in the bank beside the road.

_x-x-x_

Stiles stares out the window, pain vibrating through his leg, wedged between the door and the seat. His precious jeep had gone right through that deer, a deer that never really been there. It was a hallucination so vivid it belonged in cartoons with their unrealistic portrayal of what a mirage should be like. Calvin might be inside of his head, worming around and creating images for the sake of manipulation. He was right, they hadn't lost him.

"Lydia!" He shouts, focusing on the only thought for him. He feels the warm blood drip down his temple.

He knows her scream well, having heard it so many times, and when he hears it this time it's no different. He struggles despite the burning in his left leg and brackets his nails along the flattened roof below him to find the leverage to get himself out through the broken window, using his right leg as a source of his very own horsepower.

He manages to squirm through, seething as the shards lightly dig into his sides.

The flipped car is used for support, Stiles limping around to the other side with hysteria in his heart. When he wraps around the of the jeep, he discovers Calvin, fiercely holding on to Lydia.

Stiles braces himself, arms outstretched and wavering in a placating manner. He approaches slow and cautiously to give off the impression that he isn't looking for a fight, but Calvin remains firm in his hold.

"You don't need me, Calvin," Lydia whispers desperately, urging him to spare them. She knows resistance is futile, she knows that they were too late. Calvin is going to sacrifice her and use his newfound power to kill the rest of her friends. It was an unimaginable ending to this wicked game of chess.

"I can't complete the ritual without you," he yanks back on her hair and a sound escapes her.

It's a scenario Stiles has seen many times in the movies. The villain captures the love interest and threatens her life and the hero has to make a quick decision. He always does and he rescues her, he's  _always_ seen it that way (at least until he finally read the Spiderman comics). This isn't one of those movies and he isn't the hero of this story. In this life, in this moment, Lydia is the heroine. She can't cast Calvin into the Triskelion box if she's dead and if she's dead then - well, it's not something Stiles likes to think about. The point is, every move he makes here matters because this is real. He knows that.

But he isn't quite sure how to deal with it.

"There's only one way to settle this," Calvin grunts, dilated eyes centered on the trembling teenage boy standing so close.

Stiles rushes forward with a sudden energy, intending to take Calvin down and give Lydia a spare moment to run. He knows she probably won't, but he hopes with his heart and tries to send telepathic messages her way. It wasn't an ideal situation, but if they were going to be in it then he was going to be damn sure he didn't go down swinging.

He hears Lydia scream before he even recognizes the cause of the white hot pain spreading in the left side of his stomach. He knows what's happened before he looks down, but how can it be possible that something so threatening to his existence could slip into his body like he was butter?

Dropping to the cold hard ground, Stiles doesn't feel the cuts opening up on his knees with the force of his fall. He can barely feel anything but a lightheaded sensation much like being injected with morphine and the sense of overwhelming dread as he watches a hysterical Lydia be whisked away the Incubus. His own name echoes in his head and he can hear her voice still perfectly calling it when she and Calvin have faded long into the distance.

He tearfully moans her name back and preys she knows he's still reaching for her, fingers flexing automatically like she's just inches from his arms.

It's one realization haunting him for however long he believes he has left on this Earth, bleeding out on the mud beside his broken down jeep.  _He failed them all._


End file.
